


Two Kingdoms

by softlybarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Kinda?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-02-23 04:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 58,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13182258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlybarnes/pseuds/softlybarnes
Summary: Y/N, set to be a queen, is taken on her wedding day by King James, the ruler of another land. At first glance James' Kingdom seems to be thriving but Y/N soon realizes something darker and more sinister is at work in James' land. And she seems to be at the center of it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! <3

When the carriage comes to a stop, Y/N sits straighter despite her already uncomfortable position. She’s bound at the wrists and ankles and a burlap sack rests over her head, impairing her vision.

There’s a rattle of doors and loud, male voices. The next thing she knows she’s on the cold ground, mud beneath her knees where she’s fallen. The voices surrounding her become hostile as someone lands a blow against her. She doesn’t move, only bows her head and waits. Her stomach throbs with pain but she makes no noise.  

Jeering rises up on both sides of her as someone drags her to her feet and pulls her along by the chains around her wrists. She has to shuffle along awkwardly as fast as she can, feeling the hot sting of tears and embarrassment when she falls in the mud repeatedly. Stupidly, the only thing she’s worried about is her dress. It’s ruined. It will be mere tatters by the time they’re finished with her.

“ _Stop_.” Someone suddenly booms, his voice deep and powerful. “What are you doing? Take that thing from her head.”

Still on the ground, the fabric is ripped from her head, and she finds herself face to face with the legs of a smoke gray horse. Slowly, she raises her eyes to its rider. She finds the dark-haired man from her city there, staring down at her, in full battle gear though there had been little fighting. 

Her lip curls and she says, “James.”

“King James.”

“ _King_ James,” she spits. “ _Thieving King James_ , stooping to stealing a queen on her wedding day. Did you tire of the rape and pillaging of villages? Tire of the slaughter of children?”

He doesn’t answer her, only looks to her captors. “She’s not to be harmed. She’s to be treated with dignity. Now get her out of the mud.” The hands that lift her from her the sludge are suddenly gentle, tight and demanding, but gentle. When she’s on her feet, James looks her in the eyes. “What lies have they been telling you?”

She spits at the ground. “They tell the truth. The lies lay here with you.”

For a moment he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. But then the spell is broken when someone shouts something to their King. The next thing she knows the horse and its rider, King James, are gone and she’s being pulled toward the castle on the cliff high above her in the bluffs.

 

~

 

She’s deposited in a lavish room. Large and spacious, it overlooks the foaming blue and green sea below the castle on its clifftop perch. The room is made of pure white stone, the furnishing sparse but comfortable and certainly expensive.

While her lands struggled, these people lived in luxury and excess. There’s a low table and couches, also a pristine white, in one corner. An abundance of food is placed on the table. A large balcony with fluttering white curtains obscuring the views of the sea every so often, helps take up one wall, along with floor to ceiling windows.

She wants to cry as she stands in muddy puddle just inside the now locked door behind her. She glances down at the ruins of her wedding dress and a sudden, wild guilt hits her. While she had been mourning her wedding dress, the beautifully ruined thing, not once had her betrothed crossed her mind. Steve would be terribly worried about her. A tear slips down her cheek without her consent as she wraps her arms around her middle, suddenly cold and afraid she might fall apart if she doesn't hold on.

Her eyes close briefly before the door swings open and a woman enters the room. Y/N whirls and backs away, raising her arms to protect herself. Never has she used her gift as a weapon but desperate times call for desperate measures. Just as flame appears on her palms, James, still dressed in full battle gear, passes by the woman and snaps a tight metal bracelet around her wrist. The flame is stifled instantly. A vice feels like it’s been tightened around her heart as she desperately tries to restart the flame. It's stifling her, burning her. There's a leash on her power and it makes her skin feel tight and horrible. 

“What have you done?” She asks, looking up at him with rage in her eyes.

“A precautionary measure.” He says as the woman shuts the door. “I’m sure you’re cold and tired of being wet. Would you like a bath?” The forwardness, the sudden change of subject, shocks her. She's been kidnapped. She's being held against her will. She's a prisoner. And he's asking if she wants a bath?

She shrinks away from him with a glare, desperately clawing at the silver bracelet adorning her wrist. Panic starts to well up in her that she just manages to repress as she hisses at him through her teeth, “No. Stay away from me.” She stares with hatred at the armor on his chest, armor that he had worn when he rode into her city and attacked her wedding party, her people, and kidnapped her.

James frowns at her, confusion passing over his face before he looks to the woman. “Wanda?” He doesn't seem to understand her outrage, her anger. He seems to be looking to the woman, Wanda, for an explanation. 

The woman steps forward, arms raised pleadingly. “James will not be here. I will assist you.”

Bewilderment lashes through her, “Why should I need help to bathe? Do you find me-,”

“Please, my lady, it is the custom here.” Her eyes drift to Y/N’s dress. “You’ll catch something terrible if you don’t change soon.”

She shrinks further away, fingers still scrabbling at her new bracelet. She wants to fight them, to rail against them, force them to release her, but her lifeline, her flame is stifled, gone, taken away. And she doesn't know what to do without it, doesn't know how to fight without it. Y/N feels naked, exposed. 

But maybe if she complies, submits, she can find out what they want, find someway to escape, to contact Steve. She does want a bath anyways, to be clean. And already, she thinks, she’s betraying herself, her people. All for a bath.

She straightens. She will be dignified. She'll be calm. She'll be graceful. She doesn’t need that flame in her hand. Maybe she could reason with them. Maybe an arrangement could be reached, if only she knew what James wants. She was set to be a queen, she could figure something out. “Yes. I’ll have a bath.”

Wanda smiles. “Very well-,” she starts as she glances over to James who has a gentle, satisfied smile on his face.

“But I want to keep my dress.”

James face darkens, his whole body stiff with rage. “That is _not_ possible, I’m afraid.”

“Then I won’t bathe.” She lifts her chin. “It’s my wedding dress. I won’t give it up.”

There’s a storm in his eyes as he looks at her, “A false engagement-,”

Wanda steps forward, holding a hand out to her King, and Y/N only becomes more confused. “You can keep your wedding dress. Of course, my lady, if you wish it.”

James doesn’t relax, only glowers at her, “As soon as she’s finished, I wish to speak with her.” With that he turns on his heel and marches out of her room, the door slams shut behind him. A dark energy seems to pulse around the room and Y/N frowns as Wanda shivers and ducks her head.

“Come with me. I’m afraid his mood can be rather dark at times. Especially when it comes to you,” she says, walking past Y/N and toward an adjoining room that can only be a washroom, leaving her curious and afraid and more desperate to get home to Steve.


	2. Chapter 2

She’s led to a large bathing room, made of the same soft white tile the rest of the suite is made of. Yet another large window overlooks the sea, the top panels of glass open to let in a warm breeze. Y/N lets Wanda unlace her dress and slip the muddy, tight material off her body. It drops in a soft pool around her feet, even covered in mud, its soft and beautiful. The rest of her garments follow, lacy and light, as Wanda fills the tub and a gentle waft of warm, salty sea air blows over them.

When she steps into the hot water, the tension along her shoulders and spine relaxes almost instantly. Y/N doesn’t look at Wanda as the girl begins methodically washing her hair, letting a slow stream of water flow over her filthy hair from a small wooden bowl. Y/N tips her head back in compliance, closing her eyes as she tries to think of what a queen should be doing in this situation. But Y/N never wanted to be a queen and she’d certainly never excelled at the lessons on behavior and manners she’d be forced to attend.

Y/N keeps picking at the bracelet latched around her wrist as she opens her eyes, distractedly looking out at the sea. It’s beautiful, dark sapphire and emerald green swirling together to create a wild, gorgeous picture. It reminds her of the soldier king’s eyes when they weren’t filled with marauding darkness. On the horizon, against the orange and red of the setting sun, storm clouds loom.

Something dark settles in her own soul then as she glares at the coming storm, hatred and rage for the man who had taken her away from her home swirling in her heart. She needs to talk to James, she needs to know what he wants. “What do you people want from me?” She hisses out at Wanda, hating her too just because, and unable to control her tone of voice at the moment.  

“It’s not what the people want from you,” she answers calmly. “It’s what James wants from you.”

“And what does he want from me?”

“He wants _you_.” Wanda says it as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s in need of a wife.”

Y/N’s body goes stiff and hard, every muscle coiling tightly. She doesn’t say anything, her heart beating a mile a minute as her mind flies through thoughts even faster. “And if I don’t wish to become his wife?” She asks, fear circling her heart, lips barely moving.

“It’s your choice. You are not a prisoner here. He would never force you.”

“So I’ll be allowed to return home?” She asks sarcastically. “If I’m not a prisoner?”

Wanda shakes her head and runs a sponge over Y/N’s back, the soft smell of rose starting to rise around her. “Of course you won’t be allowed to return home,” Wanda says with certainty, making Y/N’s throat tighten uncomfortably. “But you won’t be _held_. You’ll have free reign of the grounds. James will want to spend time with you. He’ll want to speak with you.”

“I’m betrothed. I was to be married.”

With a sympathetic look on her face Wanda says, “I’m sorry. Not anymore.”

Y/N looks at the swirling, dirty water of her bath, evidence of her struggle, and feels a terrible pressure at the backs of her eyes. “I will never say yes.”

“You should give him a chance. You should give this Kingdom a chance.” Wanda moves away to grab a towel when she gasps and looks closer at Y/N’s arms and then her back. “You’re starting to bruise. If he sees…” she bites her lip and then shakes her head.

Y/N looks away and rises to step out of the bath, allowing the other woman to pat her dry with a fluffy towel. “ _He_ has no one to blame but himself.”

Wanda winces and drapes a robe around her shoulders. “Please do not say that to him.”

“It’s the truth,” she seethes. “If not for him I would be married.”

“But would you be happy?”

A wild hatred for the woman suddenly rises in her and spills out. These people seemed delusional, seemed to think they’ve saved her from something instead of recognizing themselves as the thieves and kidnappers that they were. “Do you find me happy now?” She says lowly, lips trembling with rage.

She doesn’t answer, only tilts her head to the side curiously and moves out of the room. “Come. I have a dress for you.”

Y/N finds she can only follow bewilderedly after the other woman, hands shaking a bit as she clutches the robe shut around her body. In the main room Wanda pulls a dress seemingly from nowhere and motions her forward. It’s light and gauzy, a light cream color, that fits her perfectly. It’s comfortable and allows her to move, a slit up the skirt allowing her legs to have free movement. She hates that she likes the dress, so different to the heavy, clunky dresses she wore at home. Her wedding dress had been something special, to be so fashionable and light and lovely.

“There’s food for you on the table, my lady,” Wanda says. “James will be here shortly. He’ll be able to explain things better to you than I will.”

Y/N turns away, looks at the swirling sea again, “There is nothing to explain.”

"I'll take your dress for cleaning." The door opens and closes and she’s left alone.

 

~

 

Y/N doesn’t eat the food. She glances over it, feels her mouth water, and decides she doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want anything that comes from these people.

Instead she sits in the fading sun, curled by the window. The door to the balcony won’t open and it’s the next best option. Her fingers are still at the bracelet, picking and pulling, her skin starting to become irritated around the thick metal. She’s distracted, wondering in which direction she was looking, if her own lands might lie somewhere out over the waters.

“You should stop picking at the bracelet. You will not get it off.”

She flinches at the sound of his voice, but doesn’t turn. Fear steals into her heart. They were alone. She doesn’t have her flame and he’s clearly larger and stronger than her. What would happen to her now? Would he harm her in some way?

Adjusting her dress so she’s as covered from his eyes as she can be, she doesn’t answer.

“Please look at me, Y/N.”

She whips around at the sound of her name, to glare at him. A fire sparks in her stomach as she tightens her arms around her legs, drawing herself closer into a small ball. “Do not speak my name. I am not yours.” He looks different, she notes distantly. His hair is damp and clean, pulled back. His clothes are fashionable and royal but soft and comfortable looking. He doesn’t look much like a king, but rather just like an ordinary man.

“What should I call you then?” He asks, looking into her eyes.

“Nothing,” she spits, looking away when something like hurt flashes across his face, tears beginning to sting her eyes again. She shouldn’t be so rude, she knows. It’s impossible to tell what he might do to her, alone and confined with no defense.

For a moment silence rings out. Then, his voice sounding almost careful, he says, “Do you think I would hurt you?” When she doesn’t reply for a few moments he says, “I won’t. I would rather die.”

“You already have,” she says to the window. “You hurt me the moment you dragged me away. You drug me through the mud and shackled me. You took me away from my home. I was beaten in that carriage.”

Again, a silence stretches. She doesn’t hear James approach her and she jumps when he appears in front of her, pulling her attention away from the sea. “You’re meant to be here.” His eyes are blazing, “And I’ll take care of whoever laid a hand on you. They were not meant to harm you.”

“You’re _delusional_.” She says, body aching with fear at his closeness. “You’re _crazy_. Of course they were meant to harm me. I’m a _prisoner,_ a _thing!_ I want to go home.”

“You are home. I’ve brought you home,” he says without hesitation.

She just shakes her head and refuses to answer as tears start to pour down her cheeks in earnest. “This is _not_ my home.” A queen shouldn’t cry. A queen, a princess, should be able to keep her fear in check, control her emotions, assess her surroundings and find a solution to her predicament. But she can’t. And so everything, all her weakness and uselessness, is laid out in front of her enemy. Maybe it’s a good thing she’s been kidnapped by a madman. She wouldn’t have been a good wife to Steve anyways, and she would have made an even worse queen.

James sits down across from her at the window, the swirling darkness from earlier in the day gone from his eyes. His eyes are clear blue and calm. “This is your home. You were never meant to leave.”

She frowns at him, sniffling as another wave of anger hits her. “Leave? This is the first time I’ve been here!”

Looking as confused as she feels, he says, “Don’t you know?”

She stands and glares down at him, breathing hard, “Why don’t you tell me then? Since you seem to know so much more than me?” Her rage gets the better of her again before fear overrides her system and she ducks her head, hoping that he won’t lash out at her.

James stands and says, “I’ll tell you if you eat something.” When she opens her mouth to protest, a little of the darkness filters into the blue of his eyes. “You need to eat,” he says, almost sounding worried.

For a moment they stare at each other as Y/N contemplates denying his request. But then, surprisingly, his gaze softens. “Please?” He asks, reaching out to her.

She jerks back from his touch, back hitting the glass of the floor to ceiling window, darkness almost having completely fallen outside. She’s looking at him by candlelight now, his features softened. She doesn’t remember someone lighting the candles. “Fine,” she says, not taking his hand and not looking at the confusing disappointment in his eyes. “Tell me first.”

The perplexation disappears, replaced with familiarity and a smile. “You were always so stubborn.” She doesn’t answer, crosses her arms, and looks away. “Y/N…” he says again, making her cringe at the sound of her name on his lips. “You were born here. This is your home, your lands.” He looks her in the eyes, his gaze intense and hard. “You were always meant to be mine. You have always been meant to rule beside me.” He pauses and looks away, “And someone took all that away from us.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! ❤️❤️

Y/N sits on one of the low couches across from James, picking at a small piece of fruit in her hands. James is watching her like a hawk, his eyes focused solely on her, his body completely still.

When she’s taken a few bites of the strange fruit, she puts it down and looks up at James. “I’ve eaten. Now explain.”

“Not enough,” he growls. Y/N knows his patience with her must be waning thin. For more than an hour now this has been the pattern. Eating a few bites of their disgustingly tasty food before putting it back on the table and insisting she’s finished. “Something else,” he demands of her. “You have to eat. You’ll not starve yourself.”

She looks away from him, biting the inside of her cheek, before glancing back down at the table. “What of a compromise then?” She doesn’t look up at him as she scans the meats and cheeses laid out before her, the bread and fruit and juice and ale. “I’ll eat and you talk.” Y/N glances up and then adds with a sneer, “That is if you can compromise with a prisoner.”

“You,” he starts, voice hard and unyielding, the darkness starting to flame in his eyes again, “are not a prisoner. Do I treat you like one?” James leans forward, meeting her gaze, “Have we not fed you, clothed you, taken your false _wedding dress_ for cleaning? Have you not had a warm bath? Do you not have nice rooms? Believe me, these are not things our prisoners are privy to.”

Looking away from his intense gaze she sets about pouring a cup of tea. Something heavy has settled in the room, something heavy and dark, something that makes her tremble a little. The cup she holds clicks against its saucer. But, she can’t keep quiet and she won’t be placated by food and nice things. The fact still remains that she’s being held against her will. “And yet, just like a prisoner, I have no freedom.”

There’s a beat of silence and then the tea cup flies out of her hand and smashes against a nearby wall. With wide eyes she looks at the shattered remains of the cup, cold tea dripping down the wall and along the soft white tiles of the floor. “I’m sorry,” his voice is hoarse and strained. She turns to look at him, struggling to leash whatever’s inside him.

“I thought your people wielded no powers,” she says, both amazed and afraid. He’s not fully regained control of himself, anger still swirling in his eyes, the heavy weight of fear and rage emanating from him.

“We don’t usually.” James sounds exhausted but Y/N doesn’t much care. “Please eat. I’ll explain. The power struggle is where this all began.”

Tentatively, slowly, trying not to stir whatever beast clearly laid beneath his skin, Y/N reaches for a plate and gathers food until James seems satisfied. If she wasn’t terrified of him before, she is now.

“When we were children we were inseparable. At that time…there was no divide between the royalty and the common people. We were a poor land then. And the tradition of the time was for the royals to intermarry with ordinary people. You were my best friend in the village and I decided that I would one day marry you. We were betrothed, Y/N.”

Again she cringes away from the way her name sounds on his lips. It sounds intimate and soft on his breath and she hates it. The pressure of the anger and terror starts to lift from the room as he speaks. “It became apparent, once you moved into the castle, that you had powers. A flame. It’s rare, even for those of whom having a power is inherent and normal. We knew that as soon as those in Arvendon heard of what you could do that they would come for you.”

He pauses and glances at her plate and so Y/N takes a bite of cheese. Already she doesn’t believe what he’s saying, but she thinks she should let him finish it. 

“It’s rare, exceedingly rare, for anyone from the Headland to be born with a power. And yet you were, and with a rare gift. Arvendon thought they had some right to you and so…they came. And we didn’t have the power to hold them off.” He shakes his head, “We were nine. We hid. And when they found us there was nothing I could do to stop them. The woman, the witch…laid a curse on me. And now, the rage and the hate and the fear all boil under my skin. It took many years to control it.”

Y/N glances at his hands, nervously twisting together, over and over again. She sets her plate on the table, feeling a little nauseous. “Every day since that day, I planned, we all planned, on how to get you back.”

“And the people-,”

“Don’t know who you truly are. Just as you don’t seem to know.” He pauses and looks around her spacious room. “And the end of the curse is coming. If I do not marry by the end of the year, the Headland will fall. The kingdom will cease prospering and it will fall to them. They never considered I might get you back, that we might become powerful enough to do so. There is a chance now.”

His eyes are on the bruises littering her arms and shoulders, the air becoming heavy again. “So marry someone,” she says with little sympathy. “End the curse. Save your kingdom. Let me go home.”

“The witch knew I would make no concessions on who I should marry. It’s you and it will only be you.”

“You tell a nice tale but it is just that: a tale.” She shakes her head, “None of that can be true. I don’t remember it.”

“And don’t you know someone with the power to alter thoughts?”

She doesn’t look at him, refuses to concede the truth of that statement. “You’re nothing but a liar and a coward and a thief. While you sit here prospering on the Headland, we suffer.”

James frowns at her, trembling with barely contained rage, “Suffer?”

“No food. No resources. No-,”

“They’ve tricked you so. Arvendon is powerful and wealthy.”

“ _Liar_ ,” she hisses again.

James stands, fists clenched in rage, towering over her. He grabs her arm, not hard enough to hurt or bruise, but certainly hard enough to scare, “ _Do not_. I am a lot of things, but a liar is not one of them.”

She can’t move, frozen in her seat, wide eyed and terrified. “ _Please_ ,” she whispers, ducking her head, closing her eyes, “please, don’t hurt me. I’m sorry. Don’t hurt me.” Trembling, she doesn’t raise her head when he lets out a harsh breath, sounding pained, and releases her wrist.

Before she can lift her head, he’s gone.

 

~

 

That night, laying alone and afraid in bed, listening to the waves pounding against the shore below her, she remembers something.

It’s barely a wisp of a memory. 

She remembers clutching someone’s arm and fear clawing at her stomach and throat, cowering against a wall. Then a bright light and after that there’s nothing. She replays the memory over and over and over again until the morning sun starts to peak over the horizon.

Her stomach is in knots thinking about it, knowing that the longer and further away she was from the person who might have altered her memories the less power they had. More might come back.

Maybe James is telling the truth.

And if he is…what’s she to do?


	4. Chapter 4

A few weeks go by and Y/N doesn’t see James.

She doesn’t ask but Wanda tells her that he’s gone across the strait to a border town, assessing some sort of situation. So Wanda quickly becomes her only friend, one of the few people she interacts with in the castle.

The grounds are spacious and large and the weather always seems to be perfect. She spends her days talking with Wanda and testing her boundaries, trying to think of ways she might be able to get away, to escape. With James gone…maybe she had a chance to get away.

She isn’t trusted explicitly. The bracelet, she finds out through trial, is also a device to keep her close and corralled and  cornered. At the far edge of the castle grounds, after walking for a mile or more through the forest, she’s shocked by a mild electric charge. It’s gentle and not that painful but it doesn’t allow her to go any further, the pain intensifying the further she tries to push past it.  

It makes sense but it was still worth a try.

Most days Wanda stays by her side, walks with her on the beach, sits with her under the shade of the trees in the orchard, introduces her to the people they meet around the grounds. It’s almost nice, if she weren’t acutely aware of the fact that she couldn’t leave if she so chose.

She misses Steve. She misses her home. She wonders if they’ll try to get her back, if maybe they’ll try to come for her. She wonders how Steve is dealing with the pressures of the crown by himself. She wonders why no one has tried to breach the Headland. Weren’t they worried for her? Don’t they care for her?

“Have you had anymore memories return?” Wanda asks, making Y/N’s head shoot up. Y/N is sitting in a chair by the window, curled in a small ball as she looks out over the sea. Wanda is folding sheets and has turned down every offer of help from Y/N.

Y/N shakes her head and hugs her knees closer, tilting her face toward the sunshine streaming in the window. Telling Wanda about the first memory had been a mistake. James had no doubt already heard about it. She wouldn’t reveal anything more, no matter how vivid the memories became. She has a loyalty to her home and to Steve and she won’t betray them for a few odd dreams. “No. Nothing. Maybe there’s nothing more. It was a dream and only that.”

Wanda shakes her head and turns toward Y/N’s place at the window. “Your dress is almost finished being cleaned,” she changes the subject. “What would you like done with it?”

“I would like to go home and be married,” she mutters darkly, sarcasm heavy on her lips.

“You are home.” The response is automatic, kneejerk. “You are home, Y/N, and I think you already know that.” Y/N doesn’t expect Wanda to say anything else but then, her voice small, she says, “I knew you too, you know. We were friends.”

Not knowing what to say, she only says, “Oh.” The surprise in her voice is evident to her own ears.

“Yes. I came to the castle with you as a child. I was there the night we were attacked.”

Y/N keeps her lips sealed, a strange tightness in the back of her throat, something burning in her mind, trying to break free. “I would like my dress covered,” she says instead of acknowledging the strange feeling in her belly. “And if you could put it in the closet that would be fine.” She has a massive closet now, filled with dress after dress of every color and style. There are even trousers and shirts for her to wear, as well as lingerie and underthings. And the shoes…she’s never seen so many shoes.

Y/N wonders at the lingerie, at what they think she might need it for.

Nonetheless, everything fits her exactly.

“You don’t wish it to be displayed?” Wanda asks. Y/N turns back to glare at her, as the other woman raises an eyebrow. There’s an accusation in Wanda’s eyes that says she knows why Y/N doesn’t want it displayed.

She looks back out at the sea before stretching her legs and groaning. “I think I’ll take a walk.”

“Your third today,” Wanda notes. “Trying to find a way around the barriers again?”

“I’m simply bored. I don’t wish to be stung again.”

Wanda frowns. “Bored? What do you like to do?”

“If there were even a book to read…or I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” She looks out the window again.

“We should wash your hair again tonight,” Wanda says instead of entertaining Y/N’s mood.

She stands and stretches, the lavender dress she wears falling around her. The material is light and flowy, again something she can move easily in. She slips on her shoes, ballet flats, and moves toward Wanda. “Why do you insist on doing that so often? Is my hair really that filthy?”

“No,” Wanda says, sounding confused. “It’s important here. The care of one’s hair is very important and you have such lovely hair. It’s just the way it is here.”

Y/N shrugs, “Okay. Tonight then.”

Wanda smiles. “James comes home soon.”

“Tonight?” She asks, trying not to let her fear show.

“Possibly.” Her smile is coy.

 

~

 

That night, after a long walk on the darkened beach, followed by castle guards all along the sand, she returns to her rooms to find James there. She had banged open the door, expecting Wanda to be standing there, ready to wash her hair.

Instead, it’s James. He’s standing in the center of her room, looking a little worse for wear. He’s wearing a white button up and black slacks, his hair falls to his chin, clean and soft. “James,” she says, stopping by the door and inclining her head, her shoes dangling from her fingers as she had taken them off on her walk.  

She doesn’t want to upset him as she had last time, afraid of what might happen to her if she did. Her mouth had always gotten her in trouble, and now is no different. It’s been a few weeks since she’s seen him and before that she had seen him a total of two times and so she isn’t sure how to judge his mood, his temper.

Not answering he moves closer to her, looking carefully at her forearms. She takes a step back, her breath catching in her throat. “Y/N,” his voice is a sigh. He seems satisfied, looking up from her arms to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry for my behavior before. Did I hurt you?”

She gives a tight shake of her head, swallowing back nausea.

He stops advancing on her when he realizes she’s backing away, fear radiating from her body. “I wanted to know if you’d have dinner with me? I have something to give you.”

Confusion as well as something like panic flashes through her as she looks at him. His shirt sleeves are rolled to his forearms displaying dark bruises and yellowy-green splotches. He also sports a few painful looking bruises on one cheek. There’s a bright red cut on his forehead and a burn on his neck. “Sure,” she says quietly, bending at the waist to put her shoes back on as she wonders what he had been doing, who he had been fighting.

James walks forward until he’s at her side. He holds his arm out to her but she can only stare in horror and bafflement, and so he lowers it and gives her a pained smile. He leads her out of her room and down the hall, silence echoing between them, Y/N staring determinedly at the hem of her pretty dress.

Eventually they come to a room that is much like hers, only much more lived in. Art adorns the walls and bookshelves are filled completely with novels and old tomes. Clothes are scattered about while dark rugs sit against the light stone of the floor. It doesn’t look as though he allows people into his room, to clean or otherwise. And yet, here _she_ is, with him in what is clearly _his_ space and his space alone.

There is an addition of a dining table in his room where there wasn’t one in hers. It’s set for two and ladled with an exorbitant amount of food. 

Her blood spikes with fear as James shuts the door, her eyes hyper focused on his bed in the corner of the room. “Y/N,” he says, drawing her attention. She turns and looks at him, her eyes going to his hand which is outstretched to her. “For you.”

Slowly, she reaches out to take the object from his hand.

It’s a book. The title is embossed in gold across a smooth, crisp white cover. A red ribbon is tied around the book in a perfect bow. “Wanda said you wanted something to read. I picked this one up for you but I have a lot of books,” he says, gesturing behind himself to the many shelves that line his walls. “So, I’ll give you access to my rooms and anytime you need something new to read you can come here.”

There’s a small smile on his face that drops when he continues. “I know you don’t want to be here. But I can’t let you go back to Arvendon. I can’t. I won’t force you to do anything. If nothing is what you’re willing to give then so be it. But I will try to convince you until the very last minute. And I’ll do my best to control the curse around you. I really am sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have come to see you so soon after a fight. I’m never okay after a fight. I’m sorry for frightening you. I don’t want to frighten you.”

Y/N glances at the book in her hands, running her fingers over the golden title. He did seem different. Softer around the edges and more nervous. A boy king nervous around a pretty girl. She finds him almost endearing. It’s hard not to with his softly curling hair and pleading blue eyes. 

She looks up at him. “Thank you for the book. I’ll have dinner with you.”

The smile he gives her nearly breaks her heart, makes her clutch the book to her chest.

Two things become apparent in that moment.

She’ll be spending much time with this man in the coming months.

And she can tell he really believes the lies he tells.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!

The days on the Headland pass slowly. And Y/N often wonders how long the end of the year will take to arrive. She wonders what will happen at the end of the year. She wonders why Arvendon hasn’t tried to rescue her or, at the very least, bargain to get her back.

But somehow she manages to get along with James. When he isn’t on the verge of rage, when he hasn’t just come from a fight, he’s quite charming. In a quiet and soft sort of way he’s very, very charming.

It’s been a few weeks since James gave her that first book and Y/N has easily become addicted to his rooms which receive more light, always seem warmer and more comfortable, and of course, has a vast amount of books. The books are what interest her the most. That, and the angle of the room. James’ room faces the opposite way of hers and according to Sam, one of the castle guards, it also faces the direction of Arvendon. She lies in the sun on one of his rugs and reads for most of the day, usually forgetting to eat until James comes back from Council.

She’s been distracted the past few days, staring out the window in the direction of her lands instead of reading the book propped open in front of her. She feels useless and like she should be doing more, _anything_ really, to get away. But with the electric shock bracelet on her arm there really isn’t much she can do, and everyone in the castle and on the grounds wouldn’t dare help her, they wouldn’t dare cross James to help her. The bracelet also keeps her from fighting, her power gone. The tightness on her skin, the leash on her lungs and heart keeping her from ever feeling fully comfortable is still there, ever present, a constant reminder of her vulnerability.

Distracted she doesn’t hear the door to his suite open and close, nor does she hear his footsteps approaching. “Y/N?”

She looks up and feels panic surge through her chest, immediately scrambling up from the floor and straightening her dress around her. “James,” she says, keeping her eyes on the floor. “You’re back early. I was just-,”

“Reading on the floor,” he says with something like fondness in his voice. “Do you always move to the chair just before I come back?”

“Yes,” she says, raising her eyes to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t appropriate.” But she can’t help it, she loves the sun and likes to think she would be able to see Arvendon if she looked hard enough out the window.

James shakes his head and buries his hands in his pockets as he ducks his head. “No. I don’t mind. It’s endearing and we don’t care much for propriety around here if you haven’t noticed.”

This statement only shocks fear into her system and she takes a step back, unsure what he might be implying or asking for. But James never touches her, doesn’t really even come close to her. Her comfort and genuine enjoyment of his presence seems to concern him greatly and so Y/N tries her best to relax. As much as she hates to admit it, James doesn’t live up to the marauding reputation he has on Arvendon. It hurts her to think about, that much more than his reputation might be a lie.

“Are you enjoying it so far?”

“What?”

“The book? Do you like it?”

She glances back down at the book and stoops to pick it up. “Yes. Yeah. I love it,” she says clutching it to her chest. Looking up she meets his eyes, “Did something happen? Why are you here so-,”

“You don’t wish to spend time with me?” When she doesn’t answer he continues, “I know this is hard. I know that the circumstances aren’t… _good_ but I meant it when I said I won’t force you to do anything. I won’t harm you.” He shakes his head and looks down. “I thought maybe we were becoming closer-,”

Holding the book closer to her body and trying not to look too closely at him she says, “I know. But you must realize how hard this is for me.” In truth she hates that she likes him. He speaks intelligently about every book she picks out to read. He’s kind. He doesn’t push her. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s incredibly attractive with soft blue eyes that melt her heart any time she looks into them for too long.

“I do,” James says.

“You need someone to break this curse and free your lands. So marry someone. Let me go home.” She shrugs, “I don’t see why I should be here at all. I can assure no retribution against the Headland if you allow me to return-,”

“No,” his voice is suddenly a hard growl. “This is your home, Y/N. This is where you belong. That’s what concerns me. Don’t you want to know the truth, of your home, your country, your upbringing?” He sighs, “Wouldn’t you prefer to know the truth of me? Of you?”

Something like desperation has entered his tone as he looks at her. She bites her lip and avoids his eyes. “Did you want to spend the afternoon together?”

The smile that lights his face could rival the sun and it fills her with a heavy guilt. “Yes. I would. I was going to ask you to come riding with me?”

“Riding?” She asks, a little bit of excitement slipping into her voice.

“Yes,” he says, equally thrilled that she was responding well to his idea. “Do you like riding?” She nods, trying not to smile as James says, “Why don’t you go change? I’ll meet you at your rooms in twenty minutes.”

A tiny grin tugs at the corner of her mouth.

She hates him a little, for making her smile, and the weight of guilt only intensifies.

 

~

 

Exactly twenty minutes later Y/N finds herself walking down to the stables with James. He walks closer to her than usual apparently imbued with confidence at her positive reaction earlier. “Did you ride often in Arvendon?” He asks.

She nods. “With Steve. It’s one of my favorite things to do.”

Heavy silence falls between them at the mention of Steve. But James doesn’t let it last for long, seemingly determined to be perfectly, _irritatingly_ , understanding. “I’m sure you miss him.”

There’s something in his voice that makes her look over at him, but he doesn’t look back only keeps strolling leisurely onwards. “You look lovely by the way,” he tells her, turning to hit her with the full force of those everchanging eyes. She’s wearing trousers and a loose shirt, riding boots up to her knees.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, ducking her head, trying to will away the butterflies beating against the walls of her stomach.

It takes them awhile to walk to the stables, Y/N trying not to think about how good James looks in his riding things, similar to the dark battle gear he sometimes wore.

The horses are saddled and waiting for them when they arrive, and Y/N has to cock an eyebrow at James. “Were you so sure that I would say yes?”

“I was hopeful, my lady,” he says, shooting her a small smile before swinging himself up onto his gray horse.

Y/N’s horse is spotted, a chocolate brown with cream spots. Instead of climbing on she takes a moment to pet its coat. Walking around to stand in front of the gently huffing horse, stroking her fingers over its soft nose. “What’s her name?”

“Daisy.”

“Daisy,” Y/N murmurs, forgetting herself for a moment. “She’s lovely.” Patting the horse she walks back to her side, putting one foot in the stirrup to pull herself up, swinging her other leg over its body.

Once settled she looks back to James, his eyes soft and bright blue. “Ready?” He asks as one of the stable boys approach and hand him a pack.

“I am. What’s that?” Y/N asks, peering at the pack.

“A surprise.” He’s strangely easy to trust and so she doesn’t say anything more. “I wanted to ask you about your life in Arvendon,” he says as their horses begin a slow walk, heading out into a field. “What did you do in Arvendon? As a princess and future queen?”

Her first reaction is anger. How dare he ask her about her life as though it were something previous and over. But when she turns her head to look at him there’s only curiosity in his eyes. She sighs and fingers the reigns in her hands, “I took lessons. Etiquette and manners and rules. How to…do womanly things. I was never very good at any of it and nearly always embarrassed to be doing it.”

“Is Arvendon not a warrior society?”

“We are.” She cuts her eyes at him, not missing the way he cringed when she said _we_ and not _they_. “But they refused to train me for combat.”

James is silent a moment, brows furrowed as a light breeze stirs their hair, whipping across the field. “Why? Did Steve wish it?”

“No. They did not want…harm to befall me. With the gift-,” she stops, her fingers going to the metal snapped around her wrist. “With the gift they dared not risk it.” She shrugs, “At least that’s what they told me.”

James stays silent and she knows he doesn’t believe it. She can practically feel him analyzing what she’d just said. “That seems odd, for a society based around war.”

“And this society is not?”

“Have you seen evidence of that here? The Headland is peaceful. It’s people are protective but not warmongers.”

She stares straight ahead and notices they’re heading for a grove of trees. “Is that what I am?”

“Not you. Them. The few times I’ve gone to Arvendon always the first thing I see is the training grounds. Mud and barbed wire. Children, Y/N, no more than eight learning to wield a weapon, use their power as a weapon. Does that seem a good thing to you?”

Y/N doesn’t want to admit that she had always thought the same despite also being jealous that she had never been allowed to join the other children. “They say the same about you. That we must train to keep the barbarians at bay.” She shakes her head, “In Arvendon you’re known as a murderer and a rapist and a warlord.”

“And am I?” He asks, voice just a little icy.

She looks him over, finds his shoulders stiff and his spine straight. A worried crease mars his forehead and even though she wants to lie, to spit the things she once believed at him like she had her first day on the Headland, she finds herself telling the truth. “No. I’ve found none of that to be true. You’ve been-,” she cuts herself off, afraid of what she might say.

“What?” He asks, as their horses enter the copse of trees. “What am I?”

“Kind,” she bites out, bitter that he’s making her say it. “You have been very kind and patient and even sweet these past weeks. Sometimes you can be angry and rough but rarely with me and never violent.” She pauses and scowls ahead, “Happy?”

There’s a satisfied smile on his face when she glances at him. “I’ll admit,” she continues, watching his profile, the slope of his nose, his perfect jaw, his pouty mouth. “that Arvendon is not perfect. It’s militaristic. It’s harsh. It’s cold. It’s a hard place to live. But it’s still my home.”

“I know…that you have lived most of your life there. But Y/N, this is where you were born. Do you not feel as though something has been stolen from you?” His eyes are wondering, curious. “This is your true home. The place you were meant to grow up. The castle you live in is yours. The crown of the Headland was always meant to be yours.” She doesn’t say anything, her throat tight. “Do you not want a chance to know where you were born?”

She sniffles, lifting her hand to wipe at her nose as the smell of salty sea air hits them, their horses still slowly plodding down the path. “I don’t really believe that I was-,”

“Stop lying to me, Y/N. You have to have remembered something. I know how the memory alteration works. It must be coming back to you.” He stares over at her, “Tell me you remember something about me.”

For a moment she considers telling him but she shakes her head and says, “No. I don’t remember anything.” Then she digs her heels into Daisy’s sides and trots ahead of James, pulling ahead and through the rest of the trees. On the other side of the trees is another small field followed by a sheer cliff face, the ocean swirling below.

“I thought we could sit here. Talk. But I’ve ruined that now, haven’t I?” James asks as he pulls up alongside her.

“No,” she sighs, jumping down from Daisy. “It’s fine.”

James dismounts next to her, not coming too close as usual, and grabs the pack that the stable boy had handed him. “I brought wine. Cheese.”

Y/N walks closer to the edge of the cliff. The cliff, she thinks, is the edge of the castle grounds and yet…the bracelet doesn’t harm her. Stuffing that information away for later use she turns back to James who pulls her away from the sharp drop with a hard grip. “Are you crazy?” He hisses.

“Sorry,” she says, not feeling that sorry because she’s fine and he’s overreacting. Y/N glances back at the edge, listening to the roaring sea blow. “Do you ever swim in the sea?”

“Not since I was a child,” he admits as they sit together in the grass. “I have a question for you.”

She picks at the grass as James produces two crystal tumblers and a bottle of wine. “So ask.”

James stays strangely quiet as he pours the wine and hands her a glass. She doesn’t look at him as he pulls out a small wheel of cheese and begins methodically slicing it up, lying the pieces down on a cheese cloth between them. The wind off the ocean blows his hair around his face and she has the sudden strange urge to reach out and tuck a strand behind his ear. “I wanted to ask you…about the engagement.”

Sometimes, when James speaks about something that upsets him or when he comes back from a meeting or a fight, the air around him will shift. It becomes heavy and dark, rage and fear seeping from his body as he fought to control the curse that so wanted to make him violent, take away who he is and make him something else.

It happens now. James pauses and tries to reign in his feelings. It frightens Y/N when he becomes like this, the fear affecting her as well, sending shivers down her spine, making her lean away from him.

After a few minutes he looks over and lies down the knife. “Your engagement to the king of Arvendon…was it born of romantic feelings or was it arranged?”

She considers the question a moment, settling her glass on the wild grass before pulling her knees to her chest, resting her chin there as she looks out over the waters. Eventually she lets her eyes wander over to him, “Why does it matter?”

“It does,” he growls, rage immediately returning, dripping fear into her veins. A palpable dark cloud of tension surrounds them. Y/N shrugs, fingers twitching nervously against her legs, tying not to let the fear overwhelm her. “I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, not looking at her. “I’m not trying to frighten you.”

She glances over and purses her lips, trying to decide what to say. She doesn’t want to tell him the truth. It would only encourage him. “We shouldn’t talk about this. It only upsets you.”

“But it matters, Y/N. I need to know.”

She doesn’t say anything. “Tell me,” he snarls at her.

“It was _love_ ,” she spits back suddenly, the lie like poison against her tongue. She loves Steve but not the way in which she’s implying to James. She and Steve were friends, _best_ friends, and marrying the royal girl with power of flame had simply been convenient, easy. It looked good to have the flame in the royal family. They made a good match, an easy match. “I love Steve,” she says, voice low. “And I miss him.”

And she does.

When she looks over James looks contemplative, the acrid cloud of anger and horror has faded and has instead been replaced by a calm. “You’re a liar,” he says, tiny smile on his face.

She groans and picks up a piece of cheese, nibbling at the end. “I would have stayed at the castle and read if I knew you would just use this as an excuse to-,”

“To what?”

“ _Pursue_ me.” She looks over in disbelief. “You ask me. Tell me I’m a liar when I answer. I’m engaged. To someone that isn’t you.”

James shakes his head but doesn’t look at her. “You were engaged to me first. You were mine first.”

“I,” she says, whipping her head to the side to glare at him, “do not belong to _anyone_. I am not a thing to be owned.”

“I didn’t mean-,” he starts.

She shakes her head and watches the sky in the distance as the sun starts to dip low. “You realize that the options you’ve given me are marry you or stay here forever?” Her voice is carried away on the wind, her expression unchanging. She can feel him staring at the side of her face. “Neither of which I want.”

“Y/N,” he says, sounding infinitely sorrowful. “I’m trying here. I’m trying really hard.” Still she doesn’t look at him. “Please give me a chance.”

“I am. Can you not see that I am?” She says, looking over at him. Before she can stop herself she reaches over and puts her hand over his. “I am. But I don’t belong here. I don’t want to be forced to marry you no matter how kind and charming you turned out to be.”

James stares down at where her hand covers his. “I won’t force you.” He looks up to meet her eyes and she realizes how close they are. “I want you to return home, Y/N. More than anything else, I want you to have what should be afforded to you. I want you to know me, know your home, know your people and land.”

“And if I say no until the last minute of the curse?”

“Then so be it. But I still want to know you.” He says as she takes her hand away from his but keeps her eyes locked on his. “Please Y/N. Give me a chance to show you your home. Show you me.”

“What were you doing before?” She murmurs.

A slow, sad smile spreads over his lips, “Trying to get you to stop fearing me.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Y/N and James have dinner together nearly every night. And nearly every night they talk about books and art and her childhood and _everything,_ it would seem. Nothing else seems to exist for those few hours. She finds she really likes James, who is charming and walks her around the castle grounds or takes her horseback riding when he has time. She likes him quite a lot and, for that, she hates him sometimes.

During the day, most days, James is away.

During the day, most days, Y/N plots how to _get_ away.

She doesn’t trust any of them even if she trusts James much more than she should.

But there hasn’t been a hint of anything for her to do about her situation. And even worse than that there seemed to be no worry that her own people might come to her rescue. There hasn’t even been negotiations, to work out some deal. Each day that passes Y/N feels a little more stung and forgettable and forgotten. With each day that passes she realizes more that she’s on her own and that no one is coming for her.

As she sits on the beach now she watches as a ship floats lazily by. Digging her toes into the sand, a plan start to form in her mind. The ships went by quite often and they weren’t the Headland’s ships. She could swim to one of the ships and ask for passage. She knows from her many experiences sitting on the cliff with James that the bracelet did not sting her at the sea borders.

A wave roars and crashes against the shore seemingly in reprimand of her scheming. She rolls her eyes at herself. Or maybe it’s the dumbest plan she’s ever thought up.

All she knows is that she doesn’t care about the Headland’s fate. She stands and brushes the sand away from her dress, walking back toward the castle guard standing a distance away. “Hey, Sam,” she says as she approaches.

“Y/N,” he says with a nod as they start back up toward the castle. Sam had called her ‘my lady’ exactly one time before he switched to her name without any sort of convincing necessary on Y/N’s part.

“How are you today?”

“Hot, as usual,” he says with a glare towards the sky. “Did you find what you were looking for today?” He asks as a few children dart past them, on their way to swim in the sea.

She shakes her head and grasps his arm when they start to trek uphill toward the clifftop palace. The path is smooth and well worn, but she likes Sam and he doesn’t seem to mind her hand at the inside of his elbow. “The weather here is nice, you know,” she says, matter-of-fact. “In Arvendon it’s very cold most of the year.”

“You miss it.” He says, decidedly not asking.

With a shrug she says, “Not the weather so much. But Steve certainly. The palace. My friends. But no one cares about that.” After a second she says, “James certainly doesn’t care about that. He wants me to like it here, know what life is like here.”

“Still having dinner every night?”

“Every night. I think he thinks we’re making progress.” What scares her is that she fears he might be making progress, _knows_ he is. They’ve spent so much time together over the last few months, talking and laughing, that she’s inadvertently grown quite close to him. James’ gentle gaze flashes through her mind and she has to shake her head to clear it away.

Sam has the audacity to roll his eyes at the king, “Barnes can be delusional that way. Maximoff only feeds the delusion.”

She smiles at Sam, “I’m surprised they allow you around me, Sam. You’re quite the opposite influence to what I’m supposed to believe.”

“Me too, to be honest,” he says with a smirk before pulling her to a stop, glancing around suspiciously. “I could get a letter to Steve,” he says suddenly, gripping her arm tight. “If you would like that.”

She eyes him, “Why would you do that for me?” She knows Sam likely helped with her being on the Headland, her capture. He was most likely the spy that had allowed them to attack her wedding party.

“Barnes is delusional about your being here,” he starts and then shrugs. “And I know Steve. I go to Arvendon often, as a kind of go-between,” he says seriously. It’s unlike Sam to be so intense. Y/N doesn’t remember having seen Sam around Arvendon but she was never privy to those meetings. “Things are changing there. And I have cause to think…the man you were about to marry wasn’t Steve at all. Not truly.”

Her heart turns to ice, “What do you mean?”

Shaking his head he begins to pull her along up the path again, trees beginning to canopy over them, a dark forest covering their conspiratorial posture as they make their way up to the castle. “You know better than me what they’re capable of in Arvendon, what tricks they can play on peoples’ minds.” He shakes his head, “There is either a control on his mind or it’s not Steve at all, but someone made to bare his likeness.”

“If it wasn’t Steve…” If someone had been made to _look like_ Steve… She doesn’t know what’s worse. At least if it’s mind control she knows where Steve is. If it’s someone with his likeness…then what had they done with Steve?

“Was he acting strange? Leading up to the wedding?”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she look at Sam helplessly. “I thought it was nerves. He was expected to marry and take the crown all in just the space of a few days…”

Sam’s mouth is a grim line.

“Who could it have been? Where’s Steve then? What if it’s mind control?” She asks worriedly, “Do you know?” Sam doesn’t answer her, only looks at her with dark eyes, and she knows the truth. Sam believe it to be control. “How soon could you get a letter-,”

“Y/N,” a voice calls from behind them. The pair turns to find James approaching them from behind. “Wilson,” he greets curtly as they turn. “Escorting the lady back to the castle?” Y/N slowly releases Sam’s arm, the rage pouring off James saturating the clear air around them with the weight of his curse, his anger.

Sam doesn’t answer, only turns slowly back to Y/N, “Same time tomorrow Y/N?” She knows by his tone that they’ll be discussing the letter, and Steve, in greater detail.

“Yes, thank you Sam.”

Sam turns without another glance at James. “See you around, _Bucky_.”

Y/N looks at James, fists and jaw clenched so tight he looks ready to snap. “Bucky?” Y/N questions when Sam is out of range.

“A childhood nickname,” he grinds out. “My mother always called me by my middle name, Buchanan. And so people called me Bucky. Sam found out about it some weeks ago.” 

She purses her lips and looks at James, at the hard lines of anger his body has coiled into. “I like it. I think it suits you,” she says, turning to continue to the castle but not before reaching out to touch his arm. “Bucky,” she teases lightly, giving him a small push.

It only takes a second for James to catch up. He offers his arm when he does, which Y/N takes carefully. “I was just coming to find you.”

“Oh.” Sam, she thinks, is right when it comes to the delusions of one King James. But then again, she thinks she might be becoming a little bit delusional too. “Why?”

James frowns at her and shrugs. “I thought we might have lunch as we usually do.”

Half hating herself, half glad to have a friend, she says, “That sounds fine. Where will we go? To your rooms?” James’ rooms have quickly become her favorite place in the palace despite herself, and not just for the books. It was a calming place, warm and with the light smell of _him_ surrounding everything. She hates herself a little more every day because she finds she likes James just a little more each day. The fondness in her heart stretching almost to the shape of love.

She feels nauseous at the moment, thinking about what Sam said, about what might have happened to Steve. It also worries Y/N how easily she had accepted something bad had happened to Steve, that her land had been corrupt in some way. But she’s always known that Arvendon is corrupt, it was always just a matter of accepting the corruption.

“Sure,” James answers, “Since you seem to like it there best.” She ducks her head and pinches his arm. Y/N opens her mouth to say something witty and sarcastic, when he says, “And you can call me Bucky…if you’d like.”

When she looks over at him she finds his cheeks a nice shade of crimson. “We’ll see,” she says, trying not to smile.

“Could I ask…are you often escorted by Sam?”

She shrugs as the path flattens out and they enter a graveled promenade, blossoming cherry trees lining either side. It’s so different from the snow and wind and mud of Arvendon that lasted most of the year. “Yes. Most often it’s Sam who escorts me when I go to the beach.”

“And you speak quite often?”

She pats his arm when the ever present darkness starts to rear its ugly head. “Yes,” she says, thinking about their conversation about Steve again, worry returning in full force. “Nothing for you to worry about, James.”

Its silent as they reach the steps that lead to the main foyer. James seeming a little put out that she was still calling him James. “What do you talk about?”

“My home.”

“And me.”

“Sometimes,” she says. “Not often.”

James glances over at her as they make their way to his rooms. “Sam isn’t…fond of me. He’s not my biggest advocate.”

She nods, “Do you worry he influences my opinion of you?”

“Yes,” he admits. “I do not want you to-,

“James,” Y/N says. “You have shown me over the last months who you are. And,” she stops and swallows, “I’ve realized maybe things aren’t as I thought they were.”

A smile stretches over his face. “Have you?”

“I want to ask you something,” she says suddenly, pulling James to a stop in the hall. Rage thrums just below her skin suddenly. Here she is, miles and miles and miles away from her home. A home in apparent turmoil. And she’s expected to sit around and play house with a cursed king. Steve, her heart lurches for him, who knows what might have happened to him. And James is worried about her opinion of him.

“Y/N,” he says softly, recognizing the tone in her voice. “Doll, please.”

 _Doll_. Something in her chest shatters. More of those _dreams_ trying to push in. She puts a hand to her head, swaying a little. “Y/N?” She hears James ask, feels his hand against her elbow as her vision becomes fuzzy for a few seconds.

“I’m okay,” she says gently, looking up at him. “I’m fine James.”

The present flashes with the dream. A dream of two boys, one blond and skinny, the other a little bigger and dark-haired, running on a beach with laughs on their lips and sand in their hair.

She pulls away from him and shakes her head. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Confusion crosses his face. “I’m supposed to be giving my captor a chance to win me over,” she spits.

His body has hardened again, every line rigid and taught. The next words that spill from her mouth are seemingly tugged from her by a phantom hand. “Do you know Steve?” There’s a horrible tremble in her voice, worry for her only real friend eating at her belly. She isn’t sure why she asks, a forbidding feeling in her stomach.

“Steve?”

“Steve Rogers! My fiancé! King of Arvendon!” She shouts, her eyes stinging. “Do you even know what you ripped me away from? Do you know what might have come of him?” Grief at the loss of everything familiar suddenly overwhelms her.

Sorrow plays in James eyes as he looks at her, making her take a step back, her breath catching. “Y/N…” he sighs, desperate and tired. “Of course I know Steve.”

“How?” She asks, taken aback.

“He was taken the same day you were. He’s from the Headland too. And he was meant to come home with you.”

 

~

 

Later, a chess table between them in Y/N’s room, James tells Y/N about the night she was taken from Arvendon. And then he tells her how Steve was meant to come to the Headland with her.

“He’s my best friend. I knew Steve before I knew you. We were raised in the palace together. And he was taken the night you were, the night everything went to shit. Something went wrong when we came to rescue you. Steve was supposed to have been too.”

She stares at him in confusion, trying to figure him out. Instead she moves one of her chess pieces. Then she curls on her lounge chair, arms around her knees, considering telling him what she and Sam had discussed on the beach. “Is that where you’ve been? Fighting at the border? Trying to get to him?”

“Yes.”

“And…” she looks away from him. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you believe me.” He moves a chess piece, his fingers nervously twitching against the table when he sets his piece down. “Please, Y/N.”

For a moment she doesn’t say anything. But then she swallows and chews her lip. “I want to tell you about my…memories. Or dreams…or whatever. I’ve been having them all the time. I haven’t told anyone. I’ve remembered a lot of...strange things.”

James sits forward. “Y/N-,” Before he can continue Y/N reaches forward and takes his hand from where it rests against table, knocking some of their chess pieces over. He sucks in a startled breath and Y/N closes her eyes so she won’t have to look into his eyes, so she won’t have to see the hope burning there. She bows her head and clutches his fingers.

“I remember you on the beach. I remember the fire the night the soldiers came. I remember the screaming and I remember you not letting go of my hand until you were forced to. I think I’m remembering Steve. I remember meeting you in the village and moving to the castle and your fascination with my flame.” She sniffles and clutches his hand harder, “I remember how much you seemed to love me even as a nine-year-old.”

She opens her eyes and lifts her head, “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve spent most of my life in Arvendon. It doesn’t change the fact that my loyalty is with Steve, who I’ve been beside most, if not all, of my life.”

He shakes his head and lifts her hand, brushing his mouth over her knuckles. She shutters at the contact as he asks, “But does your loyalty also still lie with Arvendon?”

Y/N doesn’t know the answer to that question anymore. Her lips tremble when she whispers, “I don’t know.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

“You stare at the sea a lot.” Y/N turns to find Sam approaching her. He comes to a stop beside her and turns to examine the sapphire sea with her. She bites her lip, wondering if maybe Sam was guessing at her plan. “Sorry about the delay. I was sent to Arvendon.”

She glances over at him, wind whipping her gauzy dress around her ankles. “And how is it there?”

“Bad.”

Swallowing thickly and returning her gaze to the sea she asks, “Steve?” She’s feeling sentimental and depressed and her mood only darkens when she hears Sam’s response.

He shakes his head. “The king is not Steve. Not truly, as far as I can tell.”

“I have my letter,” she says, voice low, handing over the envelop she had stolen from James’ rooms, without looking at Sam. She’s not sure the letter matters now, or ever did.

Taking it, he tucks it inside his uniform. “I’ll deliver it as soon as I know.” And then, when she doesn’t respond, he says, “Maybe it’ll jolt something within him, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” she says, not able to form more words for the moment.

“Is the king still being overbearing?”

She shrugs, “He seems worried about the time I spend with other people around the palace. Of course the curse doesn’t help at all, and the rage will last all day.” A tiny smile appears on her lips, “He doesn’t seem to trust you with me at all. I was questioned at length about how often you escort me. Then he insisted that I don’t _need_ a guard at all. I can’t leave the palace grounds and he knows exactly who is here and who isn’t.”

Sam lets out a deep chuckle and says, “So I’m out of a job.”

“It would certainly seem that way,” she smiles fondly before it fades from her lips. “I’ve been here many months now. It would seem I wasn’t as cared for or as important as I had thought, to the people of my home.” Sam’s silence speaks volumes and she can only sigh and stare at her toes, digging them into the sand. Her fingers go to the silver bracelet on her arm, the symbol of her captivity, the thing that marked her as not quite one of the population but someone different and foreign.

Turning back to Sam she whispers, “Does he not realize that the only options he’s given me is submit and concede and become his wife. Or live here forever as an eternal prisoner. At the end of the year…he’ll take a wife whether it be me or someone else and then what? He’ll not let me go after the end of the year. Am I to be forever in purgatory?”

“He truly thinks he can convince you. That you’ll love him as he loves you.”

Y/N’s head snaps to the side to stare at Sam with wide eyes. “He can’t love me. He doesn’t know me.” But she thinks he’s already mastered his task. Y/N feels something akin to love for the gentle king.

“He thinks he does. He’s loved you since you were children. He’s never stopped and it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know you. His loyalty is his greatest fault.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything else for a moment, willing the tears burning at the backs of her eyes to go away. “The thing is Sam…I think I’m becoming quite fond of him. I _know_ I’m becoming quite…attached.”

“He’s charming and determined I’ll give him that.”

“Yes, well,” she sniffles. “I must get back to the castle. I’m supposed to have tea with James this afternoon.”

Sam turns and sees the tears in her eyes, “Y/N-,”

Wiping a stray tear away she says, “It’s very hard you know. To find out your people, your family, cares nothing for you. That they’d leave you in the hands of a foreign rule, not even asking of your treatment.” She meets Sam’s eyes, “It hurts more than I can bare some nights.”

Her bottom lip trembles before she straightens her spine and turns away. “Y/N, wait.”

She spins. “I don’t need an escort. Thank you, Sam. Please let me know any news you receive of Steve.” As quick as she can she walks away, scooping up her shoes where she had left them a ways up the beach in the sand.

Her breathing is labored by the time she reaches the palace. Not wanting to upset James, she keeps her quick pace. He so worried after her when she was late to things and really all she wants to do in that moment is let him comfort her. Finally reaching his hall she stops short.

There in front of his door is a woman. She’s beautiful. Tall, with lovely hair which is well cared for and longer than her own. Her dress is impeccable, her lips full and red. And her hand is in James’, who pulls her closer and kisses her cheek.

She giggles and then pulls away, going the other way down the hall.

It’s when she rounds the corner that James looks the other way and spots her. He pales, looking a bit nauseous. It hurts more than she thought possible, to see James with another woman. She stands there for a moment, struck dumb, emotions roiling before straightening her spine and lifting her chin. She walks slowly down the hall to him, trying to push down all the horrible feelings swimming around in her heart. She had thought…she had _thought_ , he wanted her and only her. Has it all been a lie? Her heart shatters. Because she has truly come to care for him, possibly, _probably_ , has even come to love him.

Everything else in her life is a game. Why not this too?

“Y/N,” he says when she gets close. “It wasn’t-,”

“It is nothing of concern to me,” she says, her tone falsely bright. “Next time please warn me ahead of time so I know not to be in your rooms, stealing your books.” She tries to tease him but it comes out forced, her voice tight with hurt.

“Y/N-,”

“It’s quite alright, James. You have needs. It’s understandable. Do you still wish to have tea with me?”

He opens and closes his mouth several times before swallowing thickly. “Yes. Of course, I do.”

“Okay,” she says and waits for him to step aside. He does eventually, his expression still strange and his complexion still very pale. Sitting at the table she begins serving herself, the tightness of her throat at the beach only intensifying. She tells herself she doesn’t care. She knows that she should not but the tightness remains and she doesn’t speak the whole time they have tea. She doesn’t even glance up from her cup.

The weight of guilt and worry for Steve combined with James’ disregard for her feelings, his _manipulation_ of her feelings, and subsequent betrayal is almost too much to bare. Her training for queen has finally come in handy and she just manages not to breakdown or lose her mind or both.

When she stands to leave, ignoring James’ outstretched hand, he steps directly in front of her. “It didn’t mean anything,” he says, taking her face between his hands. “Nothing. It meant nothing. She was here to discuss a state matter. Nothing happened.”

“State matter?”

He sighs and closes his eyes and Y/N can’t help but reach up and cover his hands with her own, leaning into his warm touch despite herself. She hates herself for craving his touch against her skin. “Yes. If…if you say no. She’s the woman I’ll marry just before midnight. But not until then, not a moment before. She’s not you. I don’t want her.”

Something about it makes Y/N want to cry, and she has to bite her bottom lip to keep it from wobbling.

She still just feels like some stupid bet.

 

~

 

“Are you feeling alright, my lady?” Wanda asks her later that night. “You’re not as talkative as you usually are.”

Y/N shakes her head and doesn’t say anything, absentmindedly moving chess pieces around on the chess table James had moved into her room. A gift, he had said. In truth she thinks he likes having an excuse to come to her rooms, and she can’t figure out why it doesn’t upset her. “Wanda,” she says, “I do not wish to be rude but could I please be left alone tonight?” Wanda had spent most of the evening methodically, and almost obsessively, caring for her hair. Usually they talked after, spent time together, while it dried. Her hair has grown quite a bit while she’s been on the Headland, much longer than it had been when she first arrived.

“Of course, lady Y/N.”

A few seconds later Wanda is gone and Y/N takes her time about blowing out the candles in her room one at a time. Finally she opens the balcony door, which had been unlocked for her a week ago, so she can sleep with a warm breeze in the room. The moonlight shines in as Y/N climbs into bed and curls on her side under the silk sheets, listening to the roar of the ocean that rushes into the room on the light wind.  

A tear slips down her cheek and she hates herself for crying. She tries to savor the soft sheets, the warm breeze on her bare arms, the soft moonlight. But it’s hard. She’s homesick and heartbroken that her home cares nothing for her. She’s heartbroken that James sees her only as something to be won. Nine-year-old James had said he would marry her and so he must.

She tries to avoid thinking about why seeing James with a woman had given her such a strange feeling in her gut. Even if she meant nothing, as James had claimed. It shouldn’t matter even to her even if the woman meant everything to him. She knows it’s because she cares for him.

On the verge of falling asleep she shoots fully awake when someone knocks on the door. She sits up and stares at it, not moving. The knock comes again, just a little louder. Carefully, she scoots off the bed and grabs the silk robe hanging on the bedpost. She slips it on and ties it closed as she unlatches the lock and opens the thick wooden door.

“James?” She asks in surprise.

His jaw is clenched tight, tension and worry emanating from his body. “Y/N. I have something for you.”

“Oh,” her shock only increases.

Moving one hand out from behind his back he holds it out to her. It’s a box, simple and small, and when she takes it and lifts the lid she finds a small, delicate cake inside. She gasps and looks up to meet his eyes. “But these only come from Arvendon. How did you-,” It’s a cake one is offered when forgiveness is being asked for.

“I understand your culture. Traditions.” He looks away from her eyes, staring instead at his shoes. She also notices he calls it _her_ culture and not _their_ culture. “And I thought maybe you might be feeling…homesick. I thought this might help you feel better. And I thought I would offer my…apologies, seek your forgiveness for upsetting you.”

She stares at him in shock, unable to believe that he had come to her right when she had been thinking about being homesick. Right when the pain was coming to its very worst head, her heartbreak only intensifying the feeling. “T-thank you, James,” she stutters, biting her lip as she tries not to cry, setting the box on the stand by the door.

“Are you alright?” He asks. “About earlier…I know I didn’t exactly explain that properly-,”

She shakes her head, not wanting to hear about it. “It doesn’t matter. I told you. Why should it matter?”

“Of course it matters. It clearly upset you and that’s the last thing I want to-,”

“Why?” She asks, looking up to search his eyes in the dim light.

James reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, looking nervous, “Because I’m trying to convince you to become my wife. And I realize what it looked like but nothing happened. I’d never…not while I’m trying to convince you to be my wife.”

Something about the phrasing makes her shrink away. He wants to make her his _wife_ , he doesn’t _care_ about her. Not really. Just as she thought. “Oh.” She gives him a bitter smile, “Yeah well. That’s exactly why it doesn’t matter. I won’t say yes to you.”

He flinches as though she’s slapped him. “Y/N,” he whispers, “Please-,”

“Thank you for the cake. You were right. I am feeling homesick. Do you know what would cure it?” Some need to be cruel rises in her then as she tries to protect her heart.

“Y/N-,” he starts, voice harsh, the darkness flaring hard around her as she recoils from him.

“Letting me go home,” she hisses anyways.

“Why won’t you give me a chance?” His voice is deep and dark and hard, making her shiver in fear. She’s always afraid of the curse, afraid one day it might override everything else, everything good in him. “Have I not done everything to prove that I care for you?”

She ignores his question and the lurch in her chest. “Why should I? You’ve taken me from my home. And the only reason you want me is because you said when you were a child that you would have me. You don’t truly care for me. You can’t. You don’t know me.” She shakes her head and steps back. “And when the last minute comes you will take that woman because you will have to, to save your lands. You might as well just save yourself the trouble.”

She looks away and bites her lip again before she forces herself to look at him. “And this will all have been for nothing. And I’ll be trapped here forever.”

For a moment, everything freezes as they stare at each other. The anger has faded from him again, instead replaced by a terrible sadness. “You still think the worst of me, even if you do not take me for a warlord.” Her heart clenches at his words. Y/N wants to comfort him, assure him that she doesn’t, that everything is just hard and complicated.

He steps forward, into her room and nearer to her where she’d stepped away. Slowly, James reaches out and cradles her jaw with one hand. Under his touch she goes still, eyes wide as she looks at him, shivering despite herself. Rarely does he touch her, and even rarer is he the one to initiate the contact. “You don’t know me. But I want you to, I’ve been trying to let you know me. I know _you_ better than you think I do. I’ve been _paying attention_ , Y/N. To everything you say and do, because I want you. I have wanted you all my life and all I’m asking for is a chance to show you. That’s all I’ve been asking for, for a chance to show you that I love you.”

She knows he has and she knows she’s been denying him, refusing to hear him. Their long talks feel heavy in her mind, where they talked of nothing but her and her home. She never asks him about himself, about the stress he’s under. But until recently she hadn’t dared believe it.

She can’t move. She can’t breathe. And she finds she wants him to come closer. She wants those pouty, pretty lips against her own. “Give me a chance, Y/N. Give me a chance to show you that I’ve truly loved you my whole life,” he murmurs as he leans in, eyes slipping closed. “ _Please_.”

And then he presses his lips to hers.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think! <3

For a few long moments, Y/N doesn’t kiss James back. She’s motionless against him and conflicted, his mouth is impossibly soft, his lips seemingly fit perfectly against hers. But when James starts to pull away she presses forward, panic overcoming her that she would lose the gentle feeling of his mouth against hers. Her hands fist in the front of his shirt, pulling him close, as her eyes slip closed and she swipes her tongue across his plump bottom lip.

James’ other hand comes up to her cheek, cradling her head between his hands, thumbs sweeping over her cheekbones.

She grips his shirt with tight fists, worried somehow that he might slip away if she loosened her hold on him. The confusion and hesitancy in her heart seems to fade, because his lips feel _right_ against hers. James pulls away when it starts to become difficult to breathe. But he doesn’t move away, only presses his forehead to hers. A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as Y/N breath catches in her throat.

“Bucky,” she murmurs, lips ghosting over his. Y/N desperately wants to kiss him again.

He shivers at the sound of his name on her lips, spoken so softly. It’s then that she realizes what’s happening, her hands flattening against his chest slowly as she shoves at the solid muscle. “We can’t do this. I cannot do this.” Her heart feels a little bit like its shattering as she says it.

James grabs her hands, pressing them urgently back to his chest, holding them there. “Wait,” he says, voice wrecked. “ _Please_. J-just hold on. Just a second, please Y/N.” With his forehead still against hers, she opens her eyes. His eyes are clenched shut and he looks almost to be in pain, jaw tight with an emotion she can't identify. His desperation surprises her, his hurt and fear surprises her. It’s in that moment that she realizes fully how much he really cares for her, how much he desperately wants her, how much he doesn't want to lose her.

She wants his lips against hers, hopelessly wants his lips against hers again. It's all she can think about. She wants to feel his thumbs sweeping over her cheeks, his hands delicately cradling her head, as though she's precious. It’s why she doesn’t pull her hands away from his, lets them rest against his chest, lets his hands trap hers against his chest.

Tears burn her eyes. She shouldn’t want him. She should hate him, but she doesn’t. She _really, really_ doesn’t. She feels quite the opposite, really. 

She closes her eyes again and nudges his nose with hers. “James,” Y/N whispers. “James,” her voice cracks, “I can’t.”

“Why?” He clutches her hands hard against his chest. “Why not? Have I not shown you how much I care for you? Admit it, Y/N. You know what I feel for you.”

“Steve,” she says, pulling back to look into his eyes when he opens them. “I’m engaged to Steve.” She knows she's not. She's knows it's not an excuse. 

And yet it's the only excuse she can give James. He doesn't know about the letter, about Steve's fate on Arvendon. 

He shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek, “No. Y/N. You’re not. You’re not engaged, not to anyone.” There’s such hope in his eyes. It hurts her to look at him. “You said it yourself, doll. You weren’t engaged to him out of romantic love.”

Pulling her in, he rests his forehead against hers again, hands going to her waist, cradling her carefully, so very delicately. “Please, Y/N.”

“I have a loyalty to him. I won’t abandon him.”

“If you think I plan to leave him there-,” He shakes his head, “We’ve been trying to breach the border again for the months you've been here.”

“So what? You kidnap the king of Arvendon, and then what? Do you not think that they will come for him?” Her hands go to his biceps, squeezing lightly. 

His lips ghost over hers, almost a kiss, the shadow of a kiss. She almost leans into it, wants it so bad she aches for it. “They didn’t come for you,” he murmurs before pressing his mouth against hers.

Y/N’s blood runs cold suddenly, eyes snapping open, and this time she does shove him away. He stumbles, taken by surprise. His eyes lift to meet hers, widened in shock. “Y/N-?”

Hysteria and grief threaten to overcome her as she stares at him. “Do you not think I know that they have not come for me? Do you think I don’t know that I’ve been utterly _abandoned_ by my people, my home? Do you not think it’s always at the back of my mind? That I have no one, nothing? That I’m not cared for _at all_? That my wellbeing means _nothing_ to them?” Her voice rises into a scream, echoing around the room.

Tears spill down her cheeks. “It’s the only thing I can think about some days,” she whispers suddenly, shoulders slumping.

James reaches out to her, tremor running through his voice, “Y/N…I didn’t mean-I didn’t-,”

“Get out,” she whispers, turning away, wrapping her arms around herself. She feels like she might fall apart. Devastation rips through Y/N suddenly, that she’s been abandoned, that she’s absolutely alone in the world. “ _Get out!_ ” Her voice cracks halfway through the scream. “ _Now_!”

A darkness storms over the room, flooding her with a fear that only makes her cry harder. “Y/N,” his voice is deep and aggressive and it terrifies her. It doesn’t sound like James anymore. “Look at me!”

“No,” she hisses. “Get out and leave me alone or treat me like the prisoner you’ve made me.” Lies. Lies burn her throat. 

The terror trembling around her only intensifies as he stalks close to her. She can feel the warmth of his body behind her, vibrating with a barely contained rage. “Look at me, Y/N.” His voice is deadly and she’s suddenly transported months back to when she first arrived and felt true fear for the man. She hasn’t felt real fear for him in months but it’s returning in full force now.

“Make me,” she spits, even terrified as she is. “I have no freedom. Make me do it.”

She doesn’t expect his fingers to close around her wrist. James spins her around and yanks her close. She yelps in pain, his grip like iron around her wrist and twisted at an angle. If she was frightened of him before she’s absolutely terrified now. She takes in a shaky breath and ducks her head, suddenly afraid he might hurt her. She knows he could snap her wrist with no effort at all. “Please,” she says lowly. “Don’t. James, please, don’t.” She’s shaking hard in total fear of the curse. Because she isn’t afraid of James…but the curse, the curse is unpredictable at best.

His grip loosens, his voice softens. “Look at me.” Some of the inky blackness of fear fading from around them.

Reluctantly, she meets his eyes, a hatred burning in her chest for him for making her submit to him. “What?”

The blue of his eyes is gone, replaced with a deep storm gray. “I care for you. This people cares for you. I love you. I always have.” His grip tightens, making her whimper, but he doesn’t seem to notice her pain. He yanks her closer, jaw clenched. “You are not alone.” His voice is fierce and she so wants to believe it.

Instead she leans forward and bares her teeth at him. “You’re pathetic and delusional if you believe that to be true. I’m alone in the world because of _you_. I have no one and nothing because of _you_.” Their noses almost touching, she whispers, “I hate you.” She doesn’t mean it. The lies sear her throat.

Something in his eyes fractures and the next thing she knows he’s released her wrist. She’s shoved back a little, stumbling with the force of it, as her bedroom door slams closed. He’s gone and she suddenly can’t find the strength to move. Y/N manages to lie down on her bed, not even able to cry.

 

~

 

Y/N stands on the beach again, alone there for once. She hasn’t spoken to James in five days. He had come to apologize to her, taken one look at her horribly bruised wrist, and left again. She hasn’t seen him since and she desperately wants to.

She misses him. She misses their talks, his voice, his smile and laugh. Her heart seems to be wound into a knot in her chest, feeling hard and heavy in her chest. When she had tried to go to his rooms she had found the door locked to her for the first time. She had cried in the hall, desperately swiping tears from her cheeks. Y/N wants to apologize to him too. She shouldn't have said the things she did. And the truth is that she loves him too.

The sky, for the first time since she’s been on the Headland, is a light gray, clouds trailing over the usually perfect blue sky. The breeze too, holds a nip for the first time as though it knows what she’s about to do.

She’s wearing a pale blue dress, light and gauzy as all her dresses are. It brushes against her ankles as she begins her slow walk down the sand to the sea. There’s a ship out on the water.

It’s her only option. It’s her only chance of getting home, to get to Steve, to find some way to help him herself. Her determination is weak, she’s not so sure where her home is anymore. She likes the Headland, she likes its people and culture and land. She doesn't want to leave James or the Headland. She doesn't want to leave the sun or the love she feels in her heart. Still, she walks forward. Because James hates her now. That, she's sure of. 

She walks through the water until she’s forced to swim. The water gets colder and colder the further she swims out. The ship had seemed a lot closer from the shore and she had never been a good swimmer, the sea around Arvendon too cold for swimming. Her lungs start to burn, her arms and legs too, even as her body starts to go cold.

Fatigue starts to settle in and all she wants to do is fall asleep. Giving up is almost easy. It isn’t as though anyone cares anyways.

Water gets into her lungs and she pauses for a moment, spluttering, panic starting to overcome her as she sinks and resurfaces over and over, an endless torture. Her vision begins to blackout as she finally succumbs to the water, the ship still so far away. She hadn’t even made it halfway. She's failed, like she has at everything else. 

It’s then that peace settles over her, knowing that she’s about to die. Her fingers cease clawing at the water, her body stops struggling. She doesn’t feel like she’s sinking, she feels like she’s floating and letting the darkness swallow her is easy. Her last thought, in fact regret, is that she’ll never see James again.

 

~

 

“Y/N!”

Y/N turns and finds Prince James barreling down the hall toward her. The windows that line the hall send his figure in and out of darkness as he runs as fast as his legs will carry him. When he reaches her he practically knocks her backward as he hugs her. “Bucky!” She squeals, squirming against his chest. At nine years old Y/N is exactly the same height as James and so she knocks her forehead against his, trying to get him to let go.

“I’ve been looking all over for you!” He says as he releases her. “Steve and I are going to swim in the sea and I want you to come along.”

She frowns and doesn’t say anything. “I think I’ll just explore the castle instead. It’s so big-,”

James waves her off, “The castle is boring.” When she doesn’t reply, just shuffles her feet and looks at the floor, he says, “Hey, what’s wrong? You don’t wanna go? That’s okay. We can do something else-,”

“I don’t know how to swim,” she says as she glances up with shame in her eyes.

James shrugs, “That’s okay. Me and Steve will teach you.” Calming a little he asks, “Is everything okay? Do you like the castle?”

“Oh yes, of course,” she nods eagerly as Bucky grabs her hand. He holds her wrist in his hand, her palm face up. Y/N shakes away his grip. “Stop that.”

“I want you to show me.”

“I could hurt you.”

A smile stretches across his face, a loving glint in his eyes. “You won’t. I believe in you.” He bounces excitedly on his toes. “You have a special gift, Y/N. No one on the Headland _ever_ gets a power and you got the rarest of them all! You must be meant for something great and I just wanna be one of the first to see it.” She scrunches her nose, trying to stop the smile that’s desperately trying to grace her lips. Daring to look at James she finds him still bouncing, his dark curls moving around his head with each long bop. “Please, Y/N?”

Biting her lip she gives a slow nod. “Okay. But just this once!”

“Fine, fine! Show me!”

Slowly she holds up her hand, palm face up again. This time though, a tiny flame appears in the center of her palm. Bucky’s eyes go wide with wonder and his hand closes around her forearm to bring her hand closer to him. As soon as he touches her though the flame disappears. “Hey!”

She shakes her head, “What if I hurt you?”

“But you’re so good at controlling it, Y/N. They say those awful people on Arvendon have to train for _years_ before they can control their powers at all.” Eyes shining, he begins bouncing again. “Please?”

He takes her arm and brings her hand to eye-level, close to his face. “Don’t move,” she concedes. “Promise you won’t move.”

“I won’t, I won’t!”

She sighs and lets the tiny flame appear on her palm again, Bucky pulling her hand ever closer to his face. “Wow, Y/N!” He keeps staring in wonder until his expression turns to something akin to horror. Y/N extinguishes the flame and snatches her hand away, an unexpected shame burning in her chest. “Does it hurt you?” He reaches out and takes her hand back, curling his fingers around her clenched fist. “I don’t want you to show me if it burns.”

She relaxes a little and opens her hand. “It doesn’t hurt me. But it could hurt others.”

James looks down at her hand lying open now in his. “You won’t. I believe in you, Y/N.” And then he looks up and flashes her a smile, his whole face scrunching up adorably. “Now come with me. Steve is waiting for us.”

They run back up the hall, hand in hand, darkness flashing with light from the windows until everything becomes a blur.

 

~

 

The next thing she knows she’s gasping for breath, coughing up water, and shivering, sand beneath her body. She finds a pair of pained blue eyes staring into hers before she passes out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And, as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Y/N wakes slowly, light filtering in the swaying curtains of her bedroom. Her body aches everywhere, something cool against her forehead. Her chest feels like someone has been dancing on it, her lungs aching with each breath she takes. All of her muscles feel as though they’ve been turned to mush.

Trying to focus her eyes she finds the blurry outline of James next to her bed. “Hey,” his voice is incredibly tender, worried and low, “There she is.”

She whimpers and turns her head away from the cool cloth in his hand, away from the light streaming in the window. Instead she feels his fingers tangle with hers, soft and careful. “Y/N,” he says after a few minutes, “What were you doing out on the water like that?” His voice shakes, like he both needs to hear the answer and fears whatever her answer might be. Emotion is thick in his voice, strangling him a little.

Slowly, she looks back at him with tired eyes. There’s such worry in his eyes. It makes her frown and glance around. Shouldn’t Wanda be there? It’s strange for James to be taking care of her himself. Doesn’t he hate her now? For the things she’d said? “Why are you here? Why do you care?” Her voice is weak and horrible.

“You almost died, Y/N,” he says, brows furrowing even as his eyes become glossy with unshed tears. “You weren’t breathing. Your skin…you were so _cold_ , Y/N. I thought you were dead. If Sam hadn’t happened to be doing his rounds and seen your shoes on the sand-,”

“I’m not,” she says gently, squeezing his fingers and wondering a little at her need to comfort him. “I’m here. I’m okay, James.”

He looks away from her, jaw ticking with a slight irritation. “Tell me the truth, Y/N. Were you trying to kill yourself?”

“No!” She says immediately. “No, of course not.”

“Then what the hell were you doing?” James’ tone tells her he doesn’t believe her for a minute.

She sits up gingerly, taking both his hands between her own. “Is it because of what happened between us? I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N.” His eyes go to her hand where a ring of bruises still circle her wrist even after a week. “Oh, god, Y/N. I’m sorry. Not meaning to isn’t an excuse. It happened and I am so sorry.” His shoulders shake with repressed emotion as he bows his head, not looking at her.

Before he can blame himself any more than he already has she tries to explain, “James,” her voice is small. “I wasn’t. I wasn’t trying to…do _that_. I…thought…that I could swim to a ship. I thought maybe I could get back to Arvendon. But the ship was farther away than I thought it was and I’m not a great swimmer. They don’t really swim on Arvendon. But I didn’t know what to do. I’m so confused about you, about Arvendon, about the Headland. And you had left me alone again…after the kiss, you didn’t come back to me. You shut me out. And I was afraid you hated me, that I’d messed everything up like I usually do. I was afraid that this time, I was unforgivable. I'd said such horrible things.”

She takes a shaky breath and clutches at his hands, finding comfort in the large roughness of them. “I was so tired of doing nothing and being alone. I’m so useless. That’s probably why they do not bother trying to get me back. It’s _exactly_ why they haven’t tried to get me back. I’m not worth it.”

A sob suddenly rips from her throat. “And I thought if I could get to a ship and get home on my own then maybe they would realize I am not the fragile, hopeless person they believe me to be. That I _was_ worth saving all this time.” She meets his eyes, “Why else would they not allow me to train and use my power? Only teaching me enough for basic protection? Why else was I the only child forced to sit through lessons on manners…I always thought it was because I was to be queen but-,” she shakes her head. “It is because I was not worth teaching.”

James opens his mouth to say something, but she continues on, “And…the truth is I’ve been treated better here than I ever was there and I don’t know…how to _deal_ with that. I like it here. And I hate that I like it. I like you. I like Wanda and Sam and every other person I’ve met. And I hate that you’re all so kind to me because it means I have no reason to hate you.”

She clenches her jaw as a shuttering sob breaks loose from her chest. “I don’t know what to do. I care for you, _so much_. And I don’t want to go back to Arvendon but I-,”

That’s when James moves from the chair he sits in to the edge of her bed. His arms circle her slowly, giving her time to pull away. But she immediately snuggles into him, burying her nose in his shoulder as she cries. “Y/N,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I did not think about that. What I said…” His fingers run up and down her spine. _They didn’t come for you_ , echoes in her mind.

“Why don’t they care about me?” She asks as James leans back in bed with her, Y/N curled into his side. “Was I always so expendable? What were they planning for me?” Her throat is tight as she tangles her fingers with his other hand. “What almost happened to me, James? What were they going to do with me if you had not come for me?” She whispers. “Why am I so hated?” She shivers, "Why did they hurt me so?" He starts at that last admission, eyes going a little hard, but he doesn't question her about it for the moment. 

James’ hand slides up her back to stroke through her long, well cared for hair. “You aren’t hated. Not here you aren’t. I didn’t tell you…but we’ve announced to the people outside the palace, officially, that you’ve been brought home, our princess returned to us.” She nods against his shoulder. “And Y/N…the reaction of the people…has been _incredible_. Celebrations and merriment. It’s as if their own child has been returned. You’re so loved here. I don’t know what they did to you in Arvendon but here you are looked on with love and reverence.”

In that moment she makes a decision. A decision to take the Headland back as her home, to let herself love the people as they love her. And a decision to truly give James the chance he deserves. “I want to see them. I want to see the people.”

He goes silent, a deep sadness resonating from his chest, and she realizes he must think she’s concocting another plan of escape. “James,” she murmurs into his shoulder. “I’m not trying to escape. I want to meet the people. On Arvendon I was never allowed to interact with the people. I don’t think I was much liked. They see me as a useless royal.”

“You’re loved here. Everyone has been waiting for your safe return.”

“James,” she whispers lowly, voice cracking around his name. “I’m sorry. You’ve been so kind to me. And I’ve been awful and then you kissed me and I never wanted you to stop. I never wanted you to stop kissing me.”

James takes a shaky breath, lips ghosting over her hair, Y/N’s cheek resting against his shoulder. “You have been acting exactly the way one would predict someone in your situation to react.” He disentangles his fingers from hers, making her heart temporarily lurch, but he only rests his palm against her neck, thumb stroking over her cheek. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he murmurs. “And I’m sorry for the miscommunication and the fear and…I’m even sorry for taking you away from Arvendon. I can’t imagine how hard all this must have been for you.”

“Realizing that your whole life is a lie is very hard.” She can’t look away from his eyes, blue and gentle as they are. “Realizing the people you thought cared about you don’t, is hard.” Her hand comes up to cover his as she leans into his touch. “Realizing you care about someone you thought was your enemy is hard.”

James scoots down in bed and presses his forehead to hers. “No more, Y/N. This is your home. This people loves you. I love you.”

“I know,” she whispers, closing her eyes.

His thumb doesn’t stop its slow slide over her cheek. “When would you like to go to meet some of the people? There’s a village not far from the castle grounds, the village you were born in actually. They would be very happy to see you again.”

“That means you would have to take the bracelet off.”

“I know.” He moves his hand to press one finger under her chin, tilting her head up. She opens her eyes to find him looking at her with regret and guilt and sorrow. “I never should have put it on you. I know you wouldn’t have hurt any of us even if you were given the chance.”

A tear slips down her cheek. “You always have believed in me, haven’t you?” She thinks about her memory, about Prince James’ fascination with her flame as a child, how he had been so sure she wouldn’t hurt him or anyone else, how he had believed she was meant for great things.

He nods, “I know you think me crazy but, I really have cared for you my whole life. I have been seeking a way to bring you, and Steve, home. It’s the only thing I thought of for years. So, yes, I’ve always, always believed in you.”

With that she tilts her face up toward him, lips parting slowly. “No one else ever has. Not really.” She closes her eyes and kisses him hard, his lips molding perfectly against hers. The arm around her back tightens, pulling her closer. When she pulls away James looks dazed beyond words and more than a little happy. “I’m sorry, James.”

“Bucky,” he whispers. “Please.”

“Bucky,” she murmurs back. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut again. “Tell me.”

She moves her hand to his cheek, stroking her fingers against his stubble. “I remember running through the orchards with you. And I remember you giving me a boost into an apple tree and shaking the branches so the apples would fall down. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah. What happened after the tree, Y/N?”

“I fell and you tried to catch me and it didn’t go well. And then you told me that you wanted me to be your betrothed.” She tilts her head to look at his face, “You loved me, even as a child. How rare that is.”

“Right,” he says. “And now,” his voice takes on a hesitant tone. “What about now?”

She sighs. “James,” she swallows hard, but he’s already pulling away from her. “No,” she says, grabbing his hand, “Please don’t.” He shudders and doesn’t pull away. “Bucky,” she murmurs, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the bed, circling her arms around his middle as she presses her cheek to his shoulder. “You have been so patient and kind to me. But-,”

“But what?”

“I'm afraid. I care for you but I'm so afraid.” She shakes her head. “I’m still confused. What of Steve? If he’s as confused and lied to as I am then he’ll think I’ve betrayed him. I _have_ betrayed him, in a way.” What she doesn’t say is that she’s still afraid he was just trying to prove some point. The worst part is that she wants to say yes, she wants to marry James. 

She lets go of him and leans away. “You’d do well to marry the woman that was in your rooms the other day. I’m not worth waiting for. You’ll ruin your country waiting for me. I'm not worth it.” He turns and takes her face between his hands again, forcing her to look into his eyes. He searches them desperately, and what he’s looking for Y/N can’t imagine, but he seems to see something there that makes a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“You are worth it. We have time. The end of the year is not yet here. I won’t give up that easily. I’ll wait. I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me. You know me, you always have, in your heart.”

“I know I do but Bucky-,”

“In two days’ time, when you’ve recovered a little more, we’ll go to the village. You can see the people who love you so much.” His thumb strokes over her cheek, making her eyes close in bliss. “I know this is hard. But I told you I’ll wait until the last second and I will. I’ll wait for you, Y/N.”

Guilt lurches in her chest upon hearing his words. She has to tell him about the letter, about Steve, about Sam. Steve is his best friend in any case, and he deserves to know what’s happening to him. “I have to tell you something.” She kisses him quickly, drawing a surprised but pleasured hum from James, afraid he won’t want to anymore after hearing what she has to tell him.

He frowns, his hands falling away from her face to take her hands. “What?”

“It’s about Steve.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AnOtHeR cHaPtEr 
> 
> Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

Y/N tells James about the letter. He doesn’t seem upset with her but he does call for Wanda who he instructs to find Sam.

It doesn’t take her long to bring him to Y/N's room. By that time James has moved back to the chair beside her bed while she sits upright, her stomach a tight, tense ball. When Sam arrives he stands a few feet away from her bed, arms crossed over his chest. His face expression is soft as he nods at James. "Barnes," he greets, something like friendliness in his tone. She wonders what's happened between them to earn James Sam's trust. 

But then he turns to Y/N and his gaze hardens, “You’re stupid.” And suddenly she knows _exactly_ what's happened between them for Sam to trust James.

James stands, glare on his face as he opens his mouth to say something, probably to defend her.

She holds up a hand to James and Sam continues on. She deserves whatever Sam is about to say to her. She had probably scared him quite badly. “Here I am, doing my rounds, when I see your shoes on the beach and you out at sea. You’re a complete fool, Y/N. You should have talked to me," he says, sounding hurt. Sam has become one of her only friends and her guilt only intensifies. "I have  _news_ from Arvendon for you.” He shakes his head and changes the subject, “You don’t want to go back there, Y/N. It’s bad, and I imagine if they got you back it would only worsen. They’re using Steve. They would use you too.”

“My letter?” She asks worriedly. Sam glances at James with a little suspicion, old habits dying hard, who looks scandalized at Sam’s slight mistrust. Y/N nods reassuringly. His face softens apologetically as he looks between the two of them. James fists are still a bit tight at his sides. Y/N reaches over, sliding her hand down his back, watching in amazement as he relaxes under her touch. She lets her hand fall away. 

“He didn’t even seem to know who it was from. He’s under some kind of spell I would guess. But as to who’s controlling him I couldn’t say.” Sam shakes his head and uncrosses his arms, giving her a sympathetic look. “I don’t think he even knows that you’ve been gone, Y/N. He doesn’t seem to know we’re always at the border. He doesn’t seem to know that training demands have been increased. He’s a puppet.”

Y/N’s throat burns with repressed tears as she sniffles, staring at the sheet covering her legs. “Did he write anything back? Anything at all?” It's a stupid hope. 

“No.” Sam’s eyes are mournful. “Like I said, it didn’t really seem to faze him.”

She looks to James, who is staring at the floor, jaw clenched so tight it looks ready to shatter. “Do you see why your marriage proposal concerns me not?” She asks. “Have you forgotten your friend?” Nausea roils in her belly. The words stumble out of her mouth before she can stop them. Neither of those things are true, her hands immediately jolt up to cover her mouth. Old habits really do die hard. 

His head snaps to the side, the darkness locked inside him immediately unfurling around the room, “You know I have not. Every day, I am at the border, trying again to find a way past. I’m never at _council,_ I’m at the _border_ directing troops.” He looks around to glare at Sam. “What you’ve done could be considered treason.”

“Could it?” Sam asks, not sounding very concerned. “I’ve just been trying to help the prince the best I can in my position.” His voice is sincere, truthful. 

“Prince?” Y/N asks in shock, looking to James. “Steve is prince here?”

James clenches his fists at his sides and looks back at Y/N, “Steve is…my brother, in everything but blood. Adopted by my parents when he was only a few months old.”

Her mouth falls open as she realizes something. “Steve has a power, doesn’t he?”

A muscle ticks in James’ jaw, “He does.”

“What is it?”

James opens his mouth to ask what she means, doesn’t she know what his power is, when Sam cuts him off. “If you ever listened to me, the _one_ person allowed to continually cross the border, you’d know that they’ve repressed it. That’s the problem with Arvendonians, no matter how strong you are someone else has a power that exploits your weaknesses.”

“What’s his power? I always thought he was without,” Y/N says, glancing between the two.

Sam shrugs, “Fast. Strong. Inhumanly so.”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, he couldn’t-,”

“He was- _is_.” James says, “You were both important to them, the Arvendonians. They saw your powers as exploitable. Tthey couldn’t stand that, we, so powerless on the Headland, would have two enhanced in the royal family.” His eyes are glassy and his lip suddenly trembles, “They took the two people most important to me, changed them, and left me alone for years.”

A violent shiver runs up his spine, the flood of darkness welling faster from him, “They took _everything_ from me! And yet _I_ am the person treated with suspicion!” His voice goes dark, deep, and with that a crack suddenly shatters up the wall opposite her bed, only stopping when it hits the ceiling. A deep tremble runs through the room, rattling the furniture.

Y/N stares at him wide-eyed, the danger not fading from around him like it usually would as his chest continues to heave, decidedly not snapping himself out of it like he usually would. “Sam you can go,” Y/N says, rising to her knees on the bed as she takes James’ hand. “Bucky,” she says gently. Sam doesn't however and she has to look over and nod at him before he’ll go, his worry for her apparent. "I'll be okay." Her reassurance to Sam only makes James’ eyes darken further, a deadly growl leaving him. 

Sam makes to leave the room then, evidently not wanting any part of what was about to happen. He must believe that James wouldn't hurt her.

“Hey,” she says to James, turning to him fully, “Look at me?”

His eyes snap to hers as she reaches out to grab his other hand. “You have me. You got me back. I’m here. We can get Steve. You aren't alone anymore. I’m so sorry you were alone all these years.”

“How much do you remember?” His voice is a low snarl, eyes darkening with each second that passes. Y/N takes a deep breath and tries to push past the terror of his power trying to circle her heart.

“Some things. _Most_ things,” she says. “Bucky, I remember most things. But you understand why this marriage is frightening. What of Steve? I don't want him to hate me. Sam's just said he doesn't know what's real and what isn't. What if he believes us to be married? What if he thinks the wedding happened?” Guilt weighs heavy on her heart. Maybe she had made a hasty decision, a mistake, in opening herself to James.

And yet somehow she still feels a little like a conquest. _He said he would marry her so he must. He said he would marry her so he must. He said he would marry her so he must. He doesn’t love her. How could he? Why would he? Useless and unwanted by all._

The air seems to crackle with the heat of his anger, “Marry me, Y/N. You’ve admitted feelings for me. Marry me. End this.”

Her voice cracks with emotion when she speaks, “He is not himself. If we should bring him here, he’ll be confused. He’ll believe I’ve betrayed him.”

“Marry me, Y/N.” He takes her face between his hands, Y/N’s fingers circling his wrists. “Marry me,” he repeats harshly, gripping her tight.

She shakes with fear but whispers, “I’m afraid. Bucky, I’m so afraid. _Please_.” And suddenly the darkness dissipates, completely gone, under control, in seconds.

“No,” he says weakly, fear coating his voice. “Of me?”

She shakes her head and wraps her arms around his neck to pull him close. His arms immediately wrap around her waist, nose pressed to the soft skin of her throat. “Of why you want me so badly. Why do you want me so badly? I'm nothing, I'm no one, and I’m afraid that you don’t know what you’re doing when you say you want me. You can marry anyone. I’m afraid that I’ll never find where I truly belong. I’m afraid that I’ll never see Steve again and that if I do…he’ll hate me.”

James shakes his head, pulling back to meet her eyes, “No. You came around. So will Steve, if he needs to at all. Maybe he knows, _realizes_ , more than we think. Your home is here. We’ll make it your home, doll.”

He swallows thickly before continuing on, “As for everything else, as to why I want you, it’s because I always have. You’re strong and powerful and good. All you want to do is the right thing but you aren’t sure what right _is_ anymore. You are everything I strive to be, everything I am not.” His arms tighten on her waist. “And I love you for all of that and I want to make you my wife, my queen. And I want you to help me get our best friend back.” He holds her close, kissing the side of her head lightly, “Y/N please say yes. I love you, Y/N. Not because I said it as a child, but because I truly _do_. And that’s why I want to marry you.”

“You said we have time.” She’s panicking inside, panicking of what it might mean if she said yes.

He nods against her, jaw still clenched tight. “Right. One day at a time, Y/N.”

“Are you really at the border every day?”

“Most days, most of the day. And then I come here to you. Any day that I’m not there, others are in my place.” He presses his forehead to hers. “We will solve this.”

She smiles a little and nudges his nose with hers. “You cracked the wall.”

James closes his eyes and sighs heavily, “That’s never happened before. My emotions tend to become… _intensified_ around you. You make me emotional.”

“James,” she murmurs, tilting his head up before pressing a kiss to his lips. “You affect me in ways no one ever has.”

He pulls away from her suddenly, leaving Y/N feeling more than a little cold. “You must rest, Y/N. I’m sorry for losing control again. You deserve better than that.” James takes a step away from her, “Doll, I’ll be back in a few days. I have to consult with the council and then go to the border. I told them I would only stay with you until you woke up.”

She nods. “And then we’ll go to the village?” But she feels a little abandoned, like he’s running away from her.

“Yes. You have my word. I think it may help you recover some confidence as well.” And then he reaches out and runs his forefinger against her bracelet, it falls from her wrist and clatters against the floor. “I hope you’re still here when I return.”

He presses a lingering kiss to her lips, hard and determined, and then he’s gone, leaving Y/N alone, still sitting up on her knees on the bed.

 

~

 

*Arvendon*

“Are the controls still in place?”

It’s the woman again, hips swaying, teeth sharp.

“Of course they are,” says the man who never leaves Steve’s side. “Perfect puppet.”

“But he fights?” She runs her fingers through Steve’s hair. It makes him want to scream, duck his head, slap her hand away. But he hasn’t been told to do any of those things and so he stays still, back so rigidly straight it hurts, hands on his thighs. The collar of his uniform is digging into his neck and he so longs to move it.

His greatest wish in that moment is to reach up and move the collar away from his neck.

The woman traces one fingernail against his cheek as the man laughs and says, “Of course he fights. He’s fighting right now.” The man pauses, reaching for the woman who plops in his lap. “Do you think Sam is suspicious?”

“No,” her voice is sultry. “He has no idea.”

Steve manages to twitch one finger behind their backs, rotating his hand fully next. It’s all he can do. But it’s something. She turns to look at him just as his hand settles back against his thigh. “We hear Y/N has fallen in love with King James. Fallen in love with…wasn’t he your best friend?” She purses her perfect lips. “Poor thing must be so confused.”

She stands again and yanks his head back by his hair. “You miss both of them don’t you? And…they don’t care about _you_. They’re…falling in love. Strange isn’t it? She told you everything in that letter didn’t she? All her feelings for the king, all her confusion. Everything that happened to her. I want to hear it. Tell me what it said. I made that witch give your memories back. Better this way isn’t it? To know exactly what tragedy is unfolding?”

The man snaps his fingers and Steve opens his mouth. The letter pours from his lips and all he wants to do it scream.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

“James!”

James turns to find Y/N scurrying down the hall toward him. His heart flutters in his chest at the worried expression on her face. When she reaches him her hands immediately smooth over his forearms, over the dark bruises and red scratches.

He’s half surprised to still find her in the castle, without the bracelet to keep her corralled. It’s comforting to know that she’s on the Headland by choice now, that she’s with _him_ by choice now. James had been heading to her rooms, worried he would find them empty. 

He hasn’t even had the chance to change yet, let alone take a bath or allow himself be patched up. “You’re hurt,” she says worriedly. “Did you just get back? Has something happened?”

“No,” he says gently, turning his hands to capture hers. “And I’m fine.” He sweeps his thumbs over the backs of her hands and watches her visibly relax. “How-,”

“Is someone going to help you?” Y/N asks. He starts to answer but Y/N cuts him off, looking nervous, “I can help you. I know many healing practices and Wanda helps me enough in the bath that-,” she stops abruptly and ducks her head in apparent embarrassment.

James feels himself color a little. He knows his cheeks are pink when he puts his finger under Y/N’s chin and lifts her eyes to his. “You were worried for me?”

“Of course, Bucky.” She bites her lip and continues on, “Sam has given me updates on the situation.” James' mood darkens just a bit, reminded they had made little progress at the border, as usual, as always.

But pleasure shivers up his spine at the sound of his name on her lips. “Yes, Y/N, of course you can help me if you wish to.”

She nods, still looking mortified. “Okay. Yes.” And then, eyes somewhere around his chest, she murmurs, “I missed you, James. Truly. You were gone for much longer than expected. Two days passed and I thought...its been five days now.”

His chest seems to swell with pride as a smile stretches across his face, even wincing a little as it pulls on a cut slashed against his cheek. “I missed you too, Y/N.” James threads his fingers through hers, “Lead the way.” They’ve gotten along for months now, but never before has Y/N so openly displayed her feelings for him. He had known that she cared for him before, but this is different. This isn't the slightly strained friendship of before. It's more. Her emotions are on display, her face open to him instead of closed. 

“Your rooms or mine or-,” her fingers twitch against his hand as she takes a shaky breath. “I really did miss you. I missed playing chess with you and going to the cliff with you and going riding with you. I missed reading with you. And-,” She stops again, chewing on her lip, looking infinitely embarrassed. “That’s it. I just missed you.” And then she jerks him down sharply and kisses him on the corner of his mouth.

With that she lets go of him and walks in the direction of his rooms, hips swishing away from him. James really has no choice but to follow after her, slightly in a daze, the love in his heart for her only growing.

He closes his door when he makes it to his rooms, beginning to disassemble the gear he wears, unsheathing weapons and unstrapping leather. He can hear Y/N in the other room, beginning to run a bath, the scent of rose and mint rushing toward him.

When she comes back into the main room she immediately takes his hand again. “Should you bathe first or-,”

“A bath first, I think, doll.”

She nods, “Okay. Then the bath is ready.” Y/N releases his hand and steps away, bowing her head.

A small smile tugs at his mouth at her embarrassment, at the way she won't meet his eyes. It's endearing to say the least. He reaches out and tips her face up with a finger beneath her chin, “I’ll call for you when I’m safely in the water, yeah?”

“Stop making fun of me,” she grumbles. James just chuckles a little and leans in to give her a careful kiss.

Her mouth immediately yields to his, her tongue sweeping along his bottom lip. James feels as though he’s floating when her tongue slides along his, her taste heavenly, invading every sense. Lightening sings in his veins when she sucks gently on his bottom lip before biting it lightly.

Desire has darkened her eyes when she pulls back. “James,” she murmurs, fingers running up his arms. “I missed you.” She pulls back and clears her throat, “Call for me when you’re in the bath.”

Her openness with her feelings for him buoys him, happiness flooding him. Somewhere in his heart he had known that she cared for him romantically but it’s nice to be able to _see_ it.

“Okay, Y/N,” he says, a hesitant smile on his lips. “Give me a minute.” She nods but doesn’t look up at him. James moves to the bathing room and quickly undresses, peeling the gear away from his skin. The hot water makes him groan when he steps into it, tight muscles relaxing as he calls out to Y/N.

The tub sits in the middle of the room, a clean white porcelain. Its wide and deep and extravagant and James has the unsummoned image of Y/N joining him there. He let's himself wonder for a moment what all of her bare skin against his would feel like. James leans back, trying to clear his mind, arms resting on either ledge of the tub, as Y/N kneels next to him. He looks over to find her eyes unguarded, gaze soft, as she looks into his face. “This isn’t strange you know,” he says. “It’s just a custom on the Headland.”

“I know,” she defends. “Why do you think I offered?”

He smiles at her, “I thought you missed me?” Her mouth, however, has suddenly formed a hard line. “Y/N?”

“You’re all bruised,” she murmurs. His eyes go to his chest, where purple and blue splotches litter his skin, where Y/N’s eyes are currently intensely focused. And then her hand splays against his skin, making him hiss. She starts to jerk her fingers back but he grabs her hand, keeps it pressed over his heart even if it hurts. He closes his eyes, letting himself enjoy the feel of her hand against his chest.

“I’m okay, Y/N.” He squeezes her hand. "I'm alright."

She swallows thickly before smiling at him when he opens his eyes to look at her. “I’ve been looking forward to going to the village. I’m worried about what they’ll think of me.”

“They’ll love you. You’re their long lost princess, Y/N.” He says with a fond smile as he watches her fight her own grin.

Her fingers dance over his chest before she pulls away and grabs a square of cloth, soaking it in the water and pouring an ample amount of soap onto it, the smell of rose and mint intensifying. Neither of them say anything as she begins carefully and methodically washing his body, cautious of the bruises and cuts and wounds marring his body.

James feels like he’s in heaven, his heart pounding against his ribs. He feels a little like he’s never _really_ been touched in his life, like this is the first, last, and only time it’ll happen. Desperation claws at his throat, at his skin. Her fingers brush over his collarbone, over his neck, when she leans in to kiss him. Her lips tremble, soft against his. “James,” she murmurs. “Lean forward.” A hard breath leaves him, never wanting her to stop touching him.

He does as asked, tipping his head back so Y/N can pour water over his hair from a small bowl. She stands and moves behind him, fingers working slowly through his hair, washing away a few days’ worth of dirt and grime. He hears her open a bottle before her hands return to his hair, the smell of peaches unfurling around him. He shivers, relaxing against her hands completely, a satisfied purr rumbling through his chest as she scrubs at his scalp. “You’re like a little cat,” she comments before silence falls between them for a few minutes.

“Can I ask you something, Bucky?”

“Yes, doll, of course,” he says, trying not to moan with pleasure as she tugs on his hair.

She’s quiet again for a time and James wishes he could see her face to judge her mood, or guess at what she’s about to ask. “Why is everyone so concerned with their hair here?” He opens his mouth when she continues. “Mine is so long now. The only people I’ve seen with relatively short hair is you and Sam. And…Wanda is very obsessed with the care of mine. It’s not enough to simply wash as it is on Arvendon.”

“Well Sam shaved his off years ago, so he would blend in with the Arvendonians,” he says. “And he never bother to grow it back when they became accustomed to him. Probably in a fit of defiance.”

She chuckles, imagining the smirk that must have been on Sam’s face when everyone had started to realize he would keep it short. “Sam follows orders where it matters. But most of the time he’s just…difficult,” Bucky admits.

“Probably to annoy you, James,” she says, laughing a little. “So why the long hair? And why isn’t yours as long as everyone else’s?”

For a moment, he considers not answering honestly, stalling with a question. “You’ve noticed, have you?” It’s true that most everyone on the Headland has relatively long hair. Her fingers halt in his now as she waits for him to answer, fingers trailing down behind his ears. He leans into her touch before her hands trace back up to his scalp. “It’s…a symbol of honor, of goodwill, of bravery. Most of all it’s a symbol of your status as one from the Headland.”

She leans down, arms going around his neck, her smooth cheek pressed to the stubble of his. “So…why do you not grow yours?”

“I don’t deserve to. I’ve kept mine this length since the day you and Steve were taken. I was to be future king and I couldn’t protect what was most important to me. I lost all my honor that day. I’ve been a disgraced royal since that day.”

“Wanda never said-,”

“They don’t consider me disgraced,” he says, turning his head to nudge her cheek with his nose. “But I consider myself that way. Trust me, Wanda has tried to convince me to allow it to grow longer.”

She kisses the tip of his nose, “I think you should allow it to grow too. You were only nine. There was nothing you could have done that night. You should not blame yourself for things beyond your control.” James reaches up and takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger, letting his eyes drift from her gaze to her lips before he kisses her. He can’t believe that he can, that she allows him to, after months and months of being on his best behavior, after months and months of trying to woo her, getting her to trust him.

He pulls away and reaches up to hook his hand around the back of her neck, water dripping from his fingers as he traces his thumb over her jaw. Y/N pulls back and James catches the guilt in her eyes as she straightens. “I should get this soap out of your hair.”

It stays silent for a long time after that, Y/N taking great care in getting the suds from his hair. When she finishes she pats his shoulder and then draws one knuckle down the line of his jaw. “I don’t think you have any injuries that need attention. I’ll be in my rooms if you require my presence.”

And just like that, she’s gone.

Tears burn at the back of his throat. No matter what anyone said, that night will always be his fault.

 

~

 

Later that night James finds himself outside of Y/N’s rooms, waiting for her to finish getting ready. Wanda had thrown him out of the room earlier when he had tried to visit her, glaring at him for interrupting them.

When the door finally opens it takes everything in his power not to stare openmouthed at her. His heart feels like it’s trying to escape his chest. He steps forward, breath catching in his lungs. Words, and love, circling his head, none of the things he’s thinking managing to escape his mouth.

“Do I look alright?” She asks worriedly, glancing down at her dress. Y/N does a slow turn and James feels as though his eyes might fall out of his head. Wanda appears behind Y/N and raises an eyebrow at him that tells him to _keep it together_.

She wears a white floor length lace and tulle dress. The halter top straps tie in thin strings at her neck. The dress cinches at her waist and the back of it is completely open, nearly to her hips. The expanse of her bare back revealed to him. Her skin looks impossibly soft and he years to reach out and touch her. “It’s a little more risqué than the things I usually wear and I’m not sure-,”

“Beautiful," he interrupts, finally finding his voice. 

“What?”

“You look beautiful, Y/N.” He pauses, his eyes roving slowly over her. “You are so beautiful.”

She doesn’t look up from the floor but there’s a smile on her face. “I-,”

“And what of her hair, James?” Wanda asks, smirk on her face.

Her hair is extravagantly done, flowers interwoven into complicated style her hair is now in. They’re all colors, framing her face delicately. “Beautiful. So beautiful.”

Y/N glances up and smiles wider, “If you keep using that word it’ll lose its effect, James.”

He grins back at her and holds out his arm. “Are you ready to see your people, doll?”

She walks forward slowly and puts her hand against the inside of his elbow, her dress trailing along the floor. “Yes,” her voice shakes just a little.

Bucky presses a kiss to the top of her head, “They’ll love you, I promise. They’ve been waiting a long time to see you again.” He leans closer, his mouth against her ear, “You do look so beautiful.”

Turning her head, she unexpectedly captures his lips. “Thank you, James.” She turns and faces him fully, reaching up to adjust his shirt a little. “I’m sorry about earlier. I know I was emotional and I left you suddenly. I was simply worried.”

“I know. It was nice to have someone worry after me.”

James smiles at her fondly, and with that they turn to go downstairs and make their way to the village.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

When they cross the castle’s bounds, Y/N flinches. Her breath stalls and she glances down at her wrist, that had, for so many months, displayed a bracelet that kept her carefully within a selected area.

James grimaces, regretting having ever put the thing on her. He wonders how many times she had hurt herself with it trying to get _away_ from him.

But then her fingers tighten on his and he glances over at her for a different reason, and finds her face lit with pure joy. “James,” she murmurs. “All for me?”

They had walked the opposite way of the ocean, behind the castle, through the forest until they reached a clearing at the top of a hill. In the valley below lay a village in celebration. The whole village is lit up with colorful lights, music can be heard, a bell in a tower rings, cheers rise every so often as a firework explodes in the air. Night has already fallen, a few streaks of orange and red blazing their last attempt at glory across the horizon’s edge.  

“All for you. Their princess returned.”

She turns to him as the courtiers and guards from the castle that had accompanied them filter around them and down the hill. “Promise me something, James,” she requests, eyes locked on his.

“Anything,” he answers immediately.

“Promise this is not some show. That it was not planned.”

His brow furrows as he takes in the worried planes of her face. “Of course not. It is not a false thing, Y/N. You’ll see when we enter the village. It’s not something one can fake, this happiness.” His eyes stay focused on her as she glances away, down to the village, a strange look on her face.

Before he can worry too much about what her expression might mean, she turns and kisses him. Her hands fist in the front of his shirt just like they had the first time, tugging him closer. A soft breeze blows over them, carrying the scent of the not so distant ocean. Her lips are wet against his, and so pliant, yielding to his mouth without a battle for dominance. She simply melts into him as he melts into her.

James presses his hands to her hips, feeling the shape of body beneath the thin dress. He tugs her close as his arms circle her, fingers brushing down her bare back. A violent shiver runs up her spine, the tiniest pleasured moan leaving her parted lips, falling on his open mouth.

Everyone else has descended the hill, making their way to the village. Even the guards have left them behind, knowing well enough that their king could protect himself and the princess, and that no one ever crossed the border anyways. Her hands flatten against his chest and James immediately stiffens, waiting for her to push him away just like she had the first time he’d kissed her.

This time, however, her hands only slide up his chest to link behind his neck, fingers fluttering through his hair. “James,” she says, her voice a breathless whisper when she pulls away to catch her breath. “Promise me one more thing.”

“Anything,” he whispers, nudging her head to the side with his nose. He trails wet, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and down her neck. “Anything for you, my queen.”

“Promise I am not also a part of some show. Promise I’m not just something to prove.”

He jerks back and stares at her with lust-blown eyes, disbelief coloring his gaze. “Why would you think that?” When she just looks at him with unfiltered sadness in her eyes he hugs her, one hand going to the back of her head, cradling her carefully. “What did they do to you, Y/N?”

“I’ll tell you about it later. This is supposed to be good.”

James kisses the side of her head and pulls away, tangling his fingers with hers as he begins to lead them down the hill to the village. His pants are just a little tight, but bearable and not that noticeable. He tries not to think of that tiny wonton moan she had let out. He’s not sure Y/N even realizes she made that noise. “Tell me, at least, what-,”

“Memories,” she whispers to him. “While you were gone these past day I’ve had more memories come back.”

“And-,”

“They aren’t memories of the Headland.” She pauses and swallows hard, “They’re memories of Arvendon. I think…they were altering everything.” She glances up at him and gives him a watery smile, “So you’ll have to forgive me. I’m not so sure what’s real and what isn’t at the moment.”

The darkness in his chest, that he holds close to his heart, rattles dangerously. It wants desperately to flood out in a protective wave. Anger, that every part of Y/N’s life, had been so careless carved and used by people who cared nothing for her, trying to escape him in a rage. He pushes it back, down, forcing the lid back onto the iron box in his chest. He knows how badly he frightens Y/N sometimes, and can’t wait for the day when he didn’t always have to be wary of negative emotions.

Before he can say anything in response she smiles at him and gives his fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, Bucky. Their power doesn’t extend here.”

“I know.” And he does. If only someone had to be close to keep the curse locked around him.

The entrance to the village is marked by a large stone archway. The archway opens onto a cobblestone street lined with people. Y/N’s hand has become impossibly tight on his, her anxiety palpable to him. “Hey,” he stops and turns to her. “They love you. There is nothing for you to worry over.”

She nods, taking his hand between both of hers. “Will they expect to see my gift?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Nothing like that. We’ll walk through the main avenue to the town square. I expect they’ll have a gift for you. But before that, while we walk, they’ll give you flowers. You don’t have to accept them all. And they won’t be offended if you don’t. But if you see a mother and child with a flower, make sure you take hers. It’s considered bad luck for the child if you don’t. The people can be superstitious and they’ll think you’ve seen something negative in the child.” She looks panicked and opens her mouth to ask something when he cuts her off, “I’ll help you. I won’t let you miss anyone.”

“Thank you, James,” she murmurs, her thumb stroking the back of his hand.

“Anything for you, doll.”

With that they start toward the archway. As soon as she cross the threshold Y/N’s eyes go wide with wonder as she glances around. He thinks she probably doesn’t remember such color. The whole street is alive with color and flame, people dancing, music, food stalls. People clamor forward on either side, but never touch them, keeping a respectable but close distance as they walk through the crowd.

Y/N immediately reaches out to the first person on the street. She takes the young girl’s flower, a bright purple thing, and strokes her cheek before moving on. Her hand slips out of his and he smiles, happy to trail along behind his future queen. He hopes that tonight will convince her, that she’ll see the place she was always meant to have, beside him in every way.

His love for her only grows when she stops to take a flower from a mother with her newborn baby. He walks closer, trying to hear what Y/N is saying to the woman. But then she turns to him and motions him over. The crowd around them is loud and light with laughter and music. Candles covered with colored glass sit in rows on every windowsill of every house on the street, casting Y/N’s white dress in colorful patterns.

She bends her head, pressing a kiss to the baby’s forehead. “James,” she says lowly when he comes closer, “This child is sick. But is he not so lovely?” She smiles at the mother reassuringly. “She wishes for your blessing as well as mine.”

James lowers his head lying a gentle kiss against the top of the child’s head before he glances up at the mother. “Do not worry. All will be fine. Weak children often make the strongest adults. I should know.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” the mother whispers. “I do hope Prince Steve is returned to us soon. Welcome home, princess,” she murmurs to Y/N.

Y/N has tears in her eyes when she turns away. “Stay with me,” she murmurs to him and James vows not to let go of her hand. Slowly, over the course of an hour, they make their way down the crowded street, collecting flowers and chatting. By the time they get to the main square the party is in full swing and Y/N has a grin on her lips.

A gasp runs through the crowd, a hush falling soon after, as two children dart in front of them. James hears a mother calling for them to come back but Y/N only stoops down in from of them, going to her knees, a smile on her lips. “Hello.”

“Your Majesty,” Two small voices say together. James heart clenches at the sound of them calling her that, the title she might bare if she ever said yes to his marriage proposal. The little girl glances at her brother before continuing, the crowd still strangely quiet.

James soon sees why. His eyes grow wide as the girl pulls a crown made of violet delphinium and white and yellow freesia, delicate ribbons trailing from the flowers, from behind her back. “For your engagement. For our beautiful queen.”

He tries not to cringe, but he folds in on himself a little, already feeling the burn of rejection and shame again. But Y/N only gasps and reaches out to the children, a hand on either of their arms. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. I’ll be proud to wear it.”

She bows her head, letting the two small children settle it on her head. As soon as its firmly in place a cheer goes up around them, the children giggle before darting away back into the crowd. The music starts up again, as does the chatter, even more raucous than before. And although the crowds converge a little then, they’re still given a wide berth. People begin lining up at street vendors and food stalls, the atmosphere unbelievable joyous.

Y/N stands slowly and looks into his eyes. He’s aware that the people are watching them, knows they’ll forever be at the center of the Headland’s attention. “Y/N,” he says quietly as they stand together in the center, un the heartbeat of the crowd. “Do you truly mean-,”

“Show me my village, James,” she says. “Please?”

 

~

 

The rest of the evening they’re approached by children wishing them a happy union. Tiny girls with bunches of flowers approach Y/N to tell her what a beautiful princess she is, what a beautiful queen she’ll become.

James smiles, because for once, no one seems to care about his presence at all. Everyone is focused on Y/N. Women stop to compliment her dress and tell her how happy they are that she’s come home. The word union is repeated many times. When Y/N insists they stand in line with everyone else for street food, she talks to everyone but _him_ , seemingly at her happiest.

It’s the happiest he’s seen her since she’s arrived at the Headland. Her mouthis  pulled in a constant grin. The vendors insist they don’t pay, and even though Y/N is rather stubborn about it she eventually concedes graciously.

It’s then that he takes her hand. “I have something to show you,” he whispers in her ear, delighting at the shiver that runs the length of her spine. Fireworks begin to explode across the sky in vibrant colors as they diverge from the crowds down an empty street. “Did I not say that the people would love you?”

“It’s…a strange feeling. I’d never felt that on Arvendon. We were never to interact with the villagers.”

James nods and runs his thumb over the back of her hand, wanting to ask about the crown of flowers on her head and not knowing how to. He decides to wait until after the surprise.

“Where are we going James? I wanted to dance.”

His mouth twitches with a barely contained smile. The image of Y/N as a child spinning around an empty ballroom invading his mind. The ballroom was mostly windows, sunlight scattered across warm wooden floors. She had worn a yellow dress and one could hardly tell the different between the sun and the girl. “You like to dance,” he says as Y/N looks over and cocks her head to the side.

“Yes,” she agrees. “I do.”

James tugs her closer, clutching her hand. A few streets later he stops in front of a house. It’s dark, the only house in whole village without colorful lights in the windows in celebration of the princess’s safe return. “My house?” She asks softly.

“Yes. Your parents-,”

“I remember. I know.”

He nods. “We kept it for you. It’s yours. If you ever want to get away from the palace it’s here. For you.” Y/N’s face is hard to read, her mouth twisted at an angle. “Y/N?”

“Should we talk about that night?”

“Do you want to?” He asks as Y/N pulls away from him, walking up to her old home. She reaches out and touches the front door with one finger. “We don’t have to.”

His eyes trail down her bare back before darting back up to her eyes when she turns. “We should since you blame yourself.”

“Y/N,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Your parents died that night. I was cursed. You and Steve were taken from me. It was no one’s fault but my own. My father wasn’t on the Headland. It was my responsibility and I failed.”

“You were  _nine_ , James.” She shakes her head slowly and holds out a hand to him, beckoning him forward. “No one expected you to be able to-to  _stop_  a whole army. No one expected you to  _do_  anything.” James takes her hand and lets her pull him closer. “I remember running with you and Steve down the hall. It was dark and we couldn’t see so I flicked out a flame. That’s how they found us. That’s how they knew where we were.” She shakes her head and looks away from him. He feels infinitely guilty that he doesn’t interrupt her, correct her. Because that is _not_ how they were found, even if it did happen.

She glances back at him, “Why were my parents at the castle?”

“Visiting you. We were having dinner when the Arvendonians came. We weren’t powerful at the time. We didn’t even have a standing army. They’d never bothered us before, we weren’t worth it. But you and Steve…your _gifts_ , that changed everything. They wanted you and they got you and they took you both away from me in so many ways.”

He shakes his head and pulls her into a hug, head buried against her neck. He closes his eyes and tells the truth. “We were sitting in that damn closet, Y/N. I could hear them coming and I was holding Steve’s hand so tight but I could still feel him shaking. I was frightened and I knew whatever was about to happen would be my fault. And it was dark.”

His voice trembles but he doesn’t care. “And so I asked you to give me light. And you did. Like you always did, like you always had. Because I was going to start screaming if I had to sit in the dark for one more second and you knew that. It’s my fault. Everything is my fault. Whatever hell Steve is living in right now is my fault. All because I was afraid and you were brave enough to give me light. I was holding onto you so tight Y/N and you gave me _light_.”

Her fingers thread through his hair, soothingly running against his scalp. “I’m sorry I ruined everything. I’m sorry I ruined your life,” he says, sincerity clear in his tone.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispers. “It isn’t. Thank you for taking care of my home even when I didn’t remember it.”

James squeezes her tighter. “Y/N, do you know what the crown on your head means? Do you know what’s been given to you?”

His hands slide down the silky skin of her back to her waist. Y/N pulls back, fingers linking behind his neck, thumbs against his jaw. “I have an idea. The little girl did say ‘engagement’. And everyone kept saying-,”

“Union,” he finishes, looking into her bright eyes. “Union, Y/N. It means something more than marriage here. It means…it means forever, it means  _meant to be_.”

For what seems like eons, Y/N only stares at him. Eventually he says, “You don’t have to mean it-,”

“But I do. I do.” She leans forward, forehead against his. “I’m sorry I was so awful to you for so long. And you’ve been nothing but patient and sweet and  _this_ -,” she pulls back to look around. “This town. These people. And  _you_ …” She closes her eyes to him, nose scrunching as she tries to hold in her emotions. “You are so good to me. And I…I-I think I lov-.” She stops, moves her hands to his cheeks. “I will marry you, James.”

He freezes, his whole body stiffening. “What?” He whispers. “What did you say?”

“I said I’ll marry you, James.” She says quietly. “I’ll marry you.”

“Y/N-,”

“I will. If we save the kingdom then you can keep your autonomy. The kingdom won’t fall and we can-,”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

He tightens his hold on her, fingers sliding up her sides until he can cup her face. “Why now? Because of the people? To save the kingdom? To save Steve?”

Y/N just stares at him for a moment as he searches her eyes, trying to control the dark emotions swirling around his heart. “Yes, James,” she says. “Yes, that’s why.”

“Not because you care for me?” He doesn’t dare let himself think she might have been about to admit love. “Do you think I’m trying to trap you again, Y/N?”

Her eyes widen, fingers curling around his biceps, “James. No. Was I not clear before? I care for you. I-I  _do_. I wish to-to be yours. I am yours.”

“Truly?” He asks.

“Yes-,” James doesn’t let her finish, lips finding hers in a heated kiss. She opens her mouth to his immediately, tongue sliding against his top lip. He groans opens against her mouth, hands going to her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh.

She breaks away from him, gasping, and presses a hot kiss to his bottom lip. “James,” she says, laughing against him. There’s such joy in her voice. “You promised me a dance.”

Cradling her back with large, calloused hands he whispers, “I did. Let’s go dance, my queen.”

James takes her hand in his and tugs her back in the direction of the town square, swinging her around and into his arms. His lips meet hers again. “Say it again.”

“I’ll marry you, James.”

When they get back to the square the music is even louder, the colors brighter, the laughter fuller. They dance all night, only stopping, pressed together as they sway, when the sun peaks over the horizon, a new day dawning.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always let me know what you think!

With the sun rising, Y/N and James walk through the forest, back to the castle giggling like school children. When they reach the main foyer, James pulls Y/N close again and dances a few slow circles with her around the large hall.

The guards watch them with smirks but James doesn’t seem to care and so she lets herself laugh loudly, freely. It feels like true freedom.

For the first time in her life, she feels  _free_. The hem of her dress is muddy and she’s sweating from dancing all night. James smells of the sea, his clothing soft against her skin when he pulls her close. And she feels free. The crown on her head is not a heavy weight. It feels good. It feels like it belongs.

They go to James rooms and he sends for a large breakfast and then they watch the sun make its rise through the sky, the sea a dull roar below them.

“Can I ask you something?” James says when they’re settled on the balcony, food laid out on a table between them.

“Yes,” she answers immediately, not looking at him as she peels an orange.

Still, she catches him fidgeting in the corner of her eye. “What did you say to Steve in your letter?”

Y/N doesn’t even pause as she says, “Only the truth. I’m on the Headland. I miss and love him very much. Does he have any news? What should I be doing? Are they coming to rescue me?” She shakes her head and looks at James who is staring in his lap, fists clenched. “I should have known something wasn’t right.” She gives a tight shake of her head, “He wasn’t acting at all like himself. I should have known they were trying to control us. I should have realized. I’ve been so  _stupid_  all these years, all this time.”

She glances up at James, “The things I’m starting to remember about them…they were awful to us.”

“Define awful.”

When she looks up she finds James’ eyes dark, the curse just barely leashed so she can’t feel it. “Why?”

“What have you remembered? They hurt you, did they not?”

She shakes her head, “I don’t want to talk about it.” Before he can answer her she moves around the table, plopping down in his lap. She presses a hand to each cheek, looking into his anger darkened eyes. “Hey, it’s okay.”

James relaxes slightly when she leans forward to bump his nose with hers. His arms circle her waist, tension melting away from his posture. “I know,” he murmurs back. “I’ll never let those bastards hurt you again, Y/N.”

Eyes fluttering closed, he tips his face up to hers and the only thing she can really do is lean down to kiss him. “I believe you,” she says just before their lips connect.

She cradles his head between her hands as delicately as he holds her, his fingers dipping under the edge of her dress. His thumbs sweep along her ribs as she inhales a shaky breath against his mouth. “James,” she whispers, pulling away.

His hands disappear, nervousness pouring off him. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No,” she shakes her head and takes his hands between her own. Her lips ghost across his knuckles before she meets his eyes. “No…on Arvendon…people aren’t this close unless they’ve already married and I…um, it’s hard to adjust.”

He tilts his head back to look at her, brow furrowing. “Truly?”

“Yes. Couples kiss. Chastely.” Y/N swallows, “I’ve let things get out of hand. Do you know what they would brand me in Arvendon-,”

“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what they would brand you, darling.” His hand slides down her arm slowly. “It isn’t like that here. Though if you aren’t comfortable-,”

She shakes her head. “I am,” she says gesturing to her place on his lap. “Clearly I am.” Y/N takes his hands and settles them back on her waist. “I didn’t even think about it until now…you’re just so nice to kiss and so much else has happened-,”

Y/N cuts off in a little gasp as his fingers trail back under the sides of her dress. She glances up to see a different sort of darkness in James’ eyes. “Tell me to stop if I do something you don’t want me to.”

She stays silent, waiting with bated breath to see what he’ll do next. James chuckles suddenly, blue eyes bright, “I haven’t done a damn thing and you’re already worked up.”

Before she can make a snarky comment his hands move around to her bare back, tracing patterns into her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. She shivers and closes her eyes, pressing her forehead to his. She knows James eyes are still open. She can feel his hot gaze, watching her every movement, reaction.

His hands trail up to her shoulders, to the tie at the back of her neck. He toys with it for a moment before yanking on is, sending the lacy, top part of Y/N’s dress fluttering down. She gasps but doesn’t open her eyes, not wanting the embarrassment of having to look into his eyes.

James leans away from her, hands reassuringly stroking down her back. Still, she doesn’t open her eyes. “You’re beautiful, Y/N.” The soft, warm wind off the sea has hardened her nipples, every nerve in her body a live wire. He brushes one thumb over the sensitive bud, making Y/N jolt and whimper. “Open your eyes, Y/N,” he coos softly.

For a moment she doesn’t do anything, she doesn’t even breathe. But then she finds her courage and remembers that James really seems to love her and opens her eyes. He’s grinning when she does. “There. Beautiful eyes to match the rest of you.”

Keeping her gaze he starts to lower his head. “What-,”

He keeps her from skittering away with one large hand splayed across her back. His other hand tangles with hers as he presses a soft kiss between her breasts. Wet lips trail across her skin, his tongue flicking out to lick her soft flesh before his mouth closes over one nipple.

She jolts and arches into him. “James,” she moans, breathless sigh hot as her free hand tangles in his hair. He hums against her, running his tongue over the sensitive bud. Freeing his hand from hers, James trails his fingers up her side, thumb sweeping over the bottom curve of her breast before he gives her other nipple a heard tweak. Y/N jolts against him, whimpering as he keeps up his gentle assault with his mouth.

When his teeth graze over her pert nipple he chuckles at her pleasured moan. A frustrated noise leaves her as he pulls back, hands settling back on her hips. “Have you ever been touched before, Y/N?”

Her fingers are still tightly knotted in his hair but loosen and fall away when she ducks her head in embarrassment. “No,” she says, a dull ache growing between her legs. James leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to her bare shoulder as she continues. “I t-told you, things are very conservative on Arvendon.”

Her breath hitches in her throat when his tongue darts out against her neck, licking a small, wet path before he nips at her skin. “And where do you like it better, Y/N? Here or there?”

“Wherever you are,” she says, surprising herself at her unfiltered answer. Apparently she also surprises James, who pulls back to search her eyes.

“Do you mean that, Y/N?”

She presses her hands to either side of his neck. “Yes.”

“What of these lands? Your people here on the Headland?”

“I care for them as I care for you.”

James lips twist into a gentle smile that she can’t help but lean forward and kiss. When she pulls back he looks dizzy and she has to giggle. He doesn’t seem to notice as he closes his eyes, peppering a small kiss to the hollow at the base of her throat. His thumbs stroke small circles into her hips as Y/N whispers his name. It all becomes too much suddenly, too close, too intimate. Her nerves get the better of her.

“I should go,” she murmurs.

His eyes snap open, fingers digging into her sides. “No. Go where? Y/N?”

She throws her arms around his neck and pulls him close, James immediately nuzzling into her neck. “Not like that. Go back to my rooms.”

When he pulls back there’s an amused smile on his lips. “Uh, doll, we were in the middle of something.” With that he presses a kiss to the top of one breast before he bites the supple flesh delicately.  

Nervousness rocks through her again as she slides off his lap. “Tie this back up?” She requests, anxiously fixing her dress. James stands behind her and ties the top back up behind her neck. Then he slides his arms around her waist, chin against her shoulder, and says, “You okay?” She’s grateful that he doesn’t push her to continue.

“I should take a bath,” she says as she leans back into him. “I’m all dirty from dancing all night.”

She feels the press of his lips against her neck. “Finish eating first.” But he doesn’t let go of her, just keeps staring out at the morning sun rising slowly above the frothing sea.

“What is it?” She asks, turning her head to look at him.

He kisses her cheek, evidently set on being as physically affectionate as possible now that she allows it. “When a proposal is accepted, typically a ball of sorts is thrown for the couple.”

Not saying anything for a moment she ponders the notion. “Shouldn’t we focus on getting to Steve-,”

“It’s just tradition. And…Y/N, there’s not much we can do right now. We’re stuck essentially. I was at the border for five says straight and besides much fighting we made no progress.”

She pulls away from him then, staring at him in horror. “What?” He asks.

“When did you last sleep? You were gone for days and then we stayed in the village all night-,”

“I slept for an hour or two before I came to fetch you from your rooms when we went to the village-,”

She gives him an indignant look that say that’s not good enough. “You’ll sleep now.”

He smiles. “And the ball-,”

“Fine,” she darts forward and kisses him hard on the mouth before she turns and leaves the balcony, making a beeline to her rooms once in the hall. There’s a dampness between her thighs, a tightness in her belly that makes her breathe a sigh of relief when she’s finally alone. She finds she’s both terribly excited and also completely petrified.

 

~

 

She runs a hot bath, opens her windows wide, and watches the sea. Sitting in the center of the tub, she wraps her arms around her legs, cheek pressed against her knees. The scent rising around her is that same one she had used in James’ bath the previous morning, and every time she inhales her stomach does a pleasant little flip.

He had smelled of rose and mint and peaches from the bath, salt from the sea, and smoke from the fireworks and candles. He had smelled that way while they walked hand in hand down the street to the square. He had smelled that way when he admitted his feelings of guilt to her over the night she and Steve were taken, face pressed against her neck. He had smelled that way when they had danced all night. He had smelled that way when he kissed her on the balcony, when he had lowed his head to suck one nipple into his mouth.

Her belly tightens with desire as guilt battles back, remembering the  _want_  that had been singing in her veins, that’s still swimming in her veins. She had wanted so badly for him to keep touching her. She still wants it.

But, she had pulled away. Like she always seems to do. It scares her, how physically close she’s let him become in the space of a few days. And yet she’s known she’s loved him for a while. She knows she _loves_ him.

Waking from her near drowning seems eons ago. In reality only two weeks have passed since he first kissed her, most of that time has been spent away from each other. She feels a little ashamed at how easy she’s fallen for his charm. She supposes, though, that she’s spent the better part of a many months by his side. She knows who he is, who she’s fallen for.

Just then her bedroom door opens. Y/N doesn’t turn, figures its either Wanda coming to scold her for bathing alone, or James, unable to stay away.

Instead she hears heels click against the stone of her bedroom floor. “Hello, princess,” says a sultry voice.

Y/N turns and finds the woman that had been in James’ rooms standing in the bathroom doorway. Her heart turns to ice in her chest. “Hello.”

The woman’s lip curls. She moves from the doorway to perch on a stool in the corner of the room. “Why couldn’t you have remained stubborn just a while longer?”

“Excuse me?” Y/N asks, heat flooding her system.

“This is the bridal suite of the castle you know,” she says, haughtily. “And I could have dealt with you living in it forever. I could have dealt with you always having a place in the king’s heart. I could have dealt with the _pining_. He can be pathetic really, so lovesick and heartbroken all the time. But taking away my _station_. Taking away what was going to be _mine_. That…I cannot have.”

Y/N eyes are hard as she looks at the woman. “What are you talking about?”

“James. He’s mine. He was meant to be _mine_. I was sure you would say no. Always no. Isn’t that what you promised him? Always no? And now a ball has been announced. A dress is being made. And you don’t want to go back to Arvendon. I am meant to be queen. _Not you_.”

The woman is impeccable. Her dress is pristine, her hair perfectly curled and obviously very cared for. Her nails are shiny with gloss. Her lips are painted perfectly. She could be a painting, as perfect as she is. And yet a vileness, a cruelness leaks from her skin.

“I saw you on the balcony,” she says suddenly. “I wanted to make sure he was okay. I was sure you would have hurt him with your disregard for his feelings. For someone so strong and resilient, his heart is so soft and loyal it might as well be mush. Did his hand feel good against your skin? His mouth? That was nothing. But that wasn’t reverence, that wasn’t love. He only thinks he does. That was just a taste for him, a taste of the one who has always said no. If you think you aren’t just some novelty prize than you are sorely mistaken.”

Y/N lets her eyes flick over the woman. “Has he touched you then?” Her voice shakes a little and the woman sends her a wicked smile at her vulnerability.

“Of course he has,” she snarls. “We aren’t living on Arvendon where everyone is a prude except for when it comes to the bloodthirstiness of war. He has needs. We all do.” Her eyes shine with mirth, “Want me to tell you how his needs were met by me? I want to see your skin crawl, your eyes water when you realize you aren’t special. Not to him. Not to anyone.” She rolls her eyes and crosses her legs, looking almost bored as she surveys the room. “He’ll tire of you.” She shrugs one shoulder, “Personally I think you’re painfully dull. Stupid even, to believe anything an Arvendonian might have told you. _And_ you know nothing about love making? A little virgin? Pathetic. What’s the point of you? As if he could really care for you. Once he’s married you the excitement will wear off and he’ll realize how truly  _useless_  you are.”

Y/N’s head snaps toward the woman at the use of that word. The woman’s bars her teeth before she opens her mouth to say more when Y/N raises from the bath. Water drips from her body, as a heat licks up her skin turning it to steam around her as her eyes blaze. The red of flame extends from her hands all the way up to her shoulders. “Do not dare to call me that. Get out.” Y/N knows her eyes are red embers when the woman’s eyes go wider than they already are.

The woman stares at her in horror, one hand going to her chest. “It’s true what they say about the Arvendonians. You are _monsters_.”

Y/N lets out a wild snarl as someone else appears in the doorway. “Get out, Calla.”

Calla looks, if possible, even more horrified to see James. “James-,” she says, bolting up from the stool.

The room rattles ominously, rage flowing freely from James’ skin. “ _Get out, Calla_ ,” he roars. “How dare you presume to know _anything_ about Y/N’s situation. How fucking _dare_ you call her a monster.”

Y/N’s power flicks out then, lashing at the woman but not touching her, just close enough to frighten. She yelps and whimpers and then darts out of the room, door to the bedroom slamming shut after her.

James approaches Y/N slowly then and she frowns. The acrid cloud of anger has passed and his eyes are gentle and concerned. “James?” She asks, wondering at why he’s approaching so slowly.

“Y/N, can you stop the flame? Are you okay?”

She looks down and immediately extinguishes the fire flowing down her arms and which had also spread to her torso. “Sorry,” she whispers, not looking up as she tries to cover herself with her hands, trying in vain to attempt some form of modesty, not that it mattered anyways. “Sorry, Bucky,” she whispers, shame clear in her voice.

His only response is to wrap his arms around her, hugging her tight. “No. Don’t apologize.” She clutches at him desperately, fingers sinking into the fabric of his clothes. “I’m sorry she said those things about you, none of it is true-,” He’s panicking, she can feel it. He thinks she’s been turned against him again. His racing heart is so loud it hurts her ears.

“I know.” She buries her nose in his shoulder. “Stay with me,” she whispers, shaking a little.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

It doesn’t matter who James had been with before. It doesn’t matter that it had taken her forever to come home, to believe in James.

All that matters is that they have each other now. She squeezes him tighter, eyes clenching closed.

All that matters for each of them, is the other.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

James keeps her closer than usual the rest of the day and evening. She tells him that she’s fine, that he should go back to his own rooms and sleep but he refuses. James is dead set on looking out for her, protecting her. He stubbornly sits on one of the low couches until she beckons him to the bed, where she had been told to sit and stay and sleep by a stubborn king. 

His head has been dipping forward and then snapping back up as he dozes and the forces himself to stay awake.

“Just come here. Lie with me. You must sleep.” She pats the space beside her gently. 

He hesitates, not moving from his place on the couch. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. You must sleep, James.” When he still doesn’t move, she crosses her arms and says, “If you won’t sleep then I won’t either.”

Sighing, he rises from the couch and moves toward the bed. He only pauses to blow out a few candles and open her balcony door. She thinks he must somehow know that she likes to sleep with it open, with the sound of the sea in her ears. “It’s still early, Y/N,” he says as he climbs into bed next to her. “We could read or play chess…there’s a few hours of sunlight left, we could go riding.”

She stares at him, at the space between them on the bed, at his stiff spine. There hadn’t been space between them that morning on his balcony and she feels herself shrinking away from him. “Is this because of what happened in the bathroom? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten-,”

“Hey,” he reaches over and tugs her into him. “No. I don’t want you to believe what Calla was saying. Your gift…I have always thought it amazing. You don’t _frighten_ me, Y/N.”

With that he pulls her down, her back to his chest. His arms circle her waist, nose pressed to the back of her neck. “If you worry so much about me sleeping then we’ll both sleep.”

Something about lying there with him feels right, good even. She smiles a little and grabs his hand, bringing it up to her mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m still sorry. I didn’t know it was happening. I should not have let my anger control me.”

He chuckles, “I cannot fault anyone else for their anger.” Y/N turns toward him, eyes darting down to his bare chest before hurriedly returning to his gaze. He laughs again and tilts her chin up. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed? I saw you completely nude mere hours ago.”

She ducks her head away from his hand. “Do not remind me,” she grumbles.

A little smirk appears on his face as he wraps an arm around her waist and draws his nose along her cheek. “Doll,” he murmurs lowly, fingers trailing slowly down her back. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. I looked at you and you were a picture of fierceness. Eyes red, flame along your body, not to mention naked. Beautiful and so strong.” His hand slides across her back, pulling her closer as he ducks to capture her mouth in a fierce kiss. She kisses him back just as fiercely, drawing a groan of surprise from James.

She smiles against him as he attempts to dominate her mouth, when she draws her hand around his back. He grunts and pulls back indignantly when she slaps his ass. “Hey!” He looks shocked beyond all recognition. 

“Behave yourself.” Those strange, odd nerves are back, fluttering around her belly. She’s afraid of what might happen if she lets it go too far. She’s afraid of what he might want from her and she’s afraid of how much she wants to give it to him. Instead of dwelling on the feeling she reaches up and traces one dark circle beneath his eye. “You need to sleep.”

He presses his face against her neck, nipping lightly at her skin, sucking kisses here and there. “You know,” he murmurs. “You have a talented tongue for someone who’s never been kissed.”

“Who says never?” She asks, closing her eyes as she buries her fingers in his hair.

James pulls back to look into her eyes, a strange look in them. “Have you?”

“Yes,” she shrugs before furrowing her brow. “And?”

He shakes his head and smiles a little, but its strained. “Doesn’t matter.”

“No,” she says hotly. “It shouldn’t. Not when I just talked to a woman you have lain with.”

“I just thought…Arvendonians, as you’ve said, aren’t exactly-,”

“People can be naughty, James.”

James chuckles a little and closes his eyes, settling his head against the pillow. “And were you, Y/N?”

He looks so peaceful with his eyes closed, a little frown on his pouty lips, tiny lines at the edges of his eyes. A smile tugs at her lips and before she can stop herself she leans forward and kisses each of his closed eyelids and then the tip of his nose. “I was a little naughty,” she murmurs, cradling his jaw, stroking her thumb along his cheek. He keeps his eyes closed, nose scrunching just a little. “I kissed a few people, away from prying eyes. And then, of course, I had to be good. When they told us Steve and I would marry. We kissed a few times, mostly because we had to. In front of crowds and at balls.”

“But-,”

“James,” she whispers before pressing her lips to his. “Go to sleep.” Y/N pats his cheek gently. “Sleep.”

His nose scrunches again, this time in irritation, and she can’t help but think that in that moment he looks incredibly human, vulnerable beyond belief. James opens his eyes and looks at her with a deep, blue softness. “For you, I will. If you show me your power first.”

She holds up her hand between them and let's a small flame dance on her palm. When he reaches out in wonder, she snatches her hand away and shakes her head. 

Another kiss is pressed to her lips before he finally settles down to sleep. He’s unconscious in seconds.

 

~

 

The next three weeks are marked by days of James’ absence and moments of intense togetherness. Soon the celebration is announced and Y/N is being fitted for her wedding dress. She isn’t allowed to see James before the ball, and knowing that he’s in the castle but not with her is nearly excruciating.

The day before they had spent the better part of the day on the cliffs, what has quickly become their own sanctuary. James had kissed her like it was his last mission on earth, her back pressed into the soft grass, his thigh between her legs. Her stomach tightens just thinking about. About how he had laughed when she had bucked her hips against his thigh, immediately stilling in embarrassment, wondering if she had done something wrong. But he had only kept kissing her, lips trailing along her neck, telling her it was okay.

Y/N shakes her head, trying to clear away the memory.

She’s standing on a short stool, a team of seamstresses from the village fluttering around her. Her whole body feels hot as she looks at herself in the mirror in front of her, embarrassment flooding her. “Are you sure this is not too…revealing?” Y/N questions Wanda as she walks by carefully carrying Y/N’s crown, again made of flowers and this time woven with thick gold.

Wanda frowns at her and says, “Revealing? This is traditional dress. What else should you wear?”

Y/N frowns and twists a little, trying to examine the dress further. The top half is azure lace and delicate pale cream flowers. It has a plunging neckline and small cap sleeves. The top is practically see through and she can barely stand to look at herself in the mirror out of mortification. The long tulle skirt pools at her feet and then trails behind her in a short train. The flowers don't look so much like they were a part of the dress but rather like they had grown right on her skin. 

Her hair sparkles, the intricate braid woven with crystals as well as flowers.

“Aren’t wedding dresses supposed to be white?”

“No. There is not a set color. The color was carefully selected by James, as is tradition.”

“James?” she asks, affronted that he had picked the color and not her.

Wanda shoots her a glare. “Yes. He noticed it’s what color you wear most often. _And_ ,” she says, leveling Y/N with a stern gaze, “It’s a _tradition_. We don’t follow many closely but for weddings these things are important. Don’t you like it?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I do. It’s very beautiful.” James had truly chosen a beautiful color and she finds she doesn’t mind.

“Step here,” one of the seamstresses says, holding out a hand to Y/N to help her down from the stool. “And bend.”

Y/N bends at the waist and allows her crown to be settled on her head. The flowers it’s made of match her dress, cream and blue. “There,” says the woman. “Now James must find you.”

Panic steals over her. “Find me?” she asks, straightening as she looks to Wanda.

“Yes,” she says. “All the women will be wearing blue. James will be the last to arrive. It’s his job to find you. Meanwhile, you will dance and talk with the others attending the ball while he searches the crowd for you.”

The anxiety in her heart subsides a little and she smiles. “Sounds easy enough.”

“Yes, one would think so.” Wanda’s smile is sly and Y/N frowns, wondering what she might mean by that. “However long it takes, it does not matter. The celebration will go on for hours and tomorrow you will marry at sunrise.”

“At sunrise,” Y/N says with a nod of her head, straightening her spine as she looks into the mirror. “Is that certain?”

“Yes, Lady Y/N.”

A smile graces her lips as everyone clears out of her rooms. “I’ll fetch you when it’s time,” Wanda says, just before the door closes.

For a few moments, Y/N doesn’t move. She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm her raging nerves. She tells herself that Steve will understand, if not immediately then in time he would as she has. She tells herself this wedding will not go as the other one did. There is no chance of that.

She is safe.

She is _safe._

But something feels off. Something she can’t quite put her finger on. The deep breaths she’s forcing herself to take start to shake.

When she opens her eyes, panic starting to consume her, she catches a glance of herself in the mirror. And she finds she looks radiant, she looks like a queen, and that is something she’d never experienced in Arvendon. Thinking back, she hadn’t ever really experienced any good emotions while there.

Her eyes drift down the reflection of her body and she smiles. James would love the dress. He would love her hair. He seems to love _her._

With that she turns sharply on her toes, her feet still bare against the stone floors, and marches to her large closet. She rips the door open and flits past all the other clothes to the very back. There, beautifully displayed on a mannequin, is her other wedding dress. It’s pristinely white, the material uncomfortable and stiff. It has long sleeves and a very conservative neckline. It practically doesn’t allow any skin to be shown. Conflicting emotions roil in her belly as she stares at it.

It reminds her of all the abuse she and Steve had suffered over the years at the hands of the Arvendonians. Physically, mentally, emotionally. She can’t even begin to imagine what they might be doing to Steve in punishment for her escape.

She looks away from the dress, tears webbing her eyelashes as they threaten to fall. Blinking rapidly she thinks of all the times over the last three weeks that she's almost told James of the memories she’s recollected. But looking James in the eyes and telling him that they had hit them…is a bad idea, that things had been so much _worse._ The closely guarded rage would not be contained.

She bites her lip and looks back at the dress, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“I miss you,” she whispers to a person miles away, a person that can’t hear her, a person that might not know her anymore. Steve had been her only light for years and it hurts her to think that that sharply witty, strong, hardheaded person might have been taken from her.

She wonders what had happened to her veil. It had been ripped from her head somewhere between the Headland and Arvendon.

Her fingers reach up to trace over a flower on her crown. She wonders if James will have one made of flowers as well. Swallowing harshly, she reaches out and shoves the mannequin hard, slamming it as forcefully as she can. The porcelain it’s made of shatters, pieces spinning by her bare feet as she gits her teeth, eyes hyper focused on the sad dress. A small scream escapes her before she presses her hands over her mouth, clenching her eyes shut. The tears spill over, running over her fingers.

She has half a mind to burn the thing, but something stops her. Y/N settles for wiping her tears straightening her spine and clearing her throat. Just before she leaves the closet she spits on the dress.

James will find her later and everything will be okay.

 

~

 

When Wanda fetches her from her rooms the sun is just starting to sink in the sky, beautiful hues of orange and pink streaking the horizon. “Will I be announced?” She asks as she and Wanda walk arm in arm to the ballroom. People linger in the halls and on open balconies, chatting and drinking. She can hear music and laughter echoing all around. The mood seems to be truly joyous.

“No,” Wanda says, “You’ll be announced together, when James finds you.”

She nods and then smiles, “Wanda, you look lovely.” She’s wearing a midnight blue ballgown that seems to sparkle with starlight when she moves.

“Not as lovely as you, Lady Y/N.”

They enter the ballroom and almost immediately Wanda leaves Y/N to wander by herself. She’s given a glass of champagne which she sips delicately as she moves around the room and although people chat with her and glance at her with knowing smiles, no one makes it obvious of who she is, everyone participating in the little game being played.

Y/N finds herself with a genuine smile on her face. She recognizes some people from her village, always stopping to talk with them for a little longer than the others. The ballroom is filled nearly to capacity, not to mention the people wandering around out in the gardens and down the promenades lined with cherry trees and the many halls of their castle. She feels giddy with anticipation, unable to hide her happiness, waiting for the moment when James would find her among the people, but also enjoying her time dancing and talking and drinking.

Hours pass, the sun having set, the party in full swing, and Y/N begins to think that James will never find her. She’s dancing with a redheaded girl around her own age, hands twinned together as they spin and dip, when she catches sight of James.

A large smiles is on his face as he stalks nearer, a predator having finally found his prey. Time seems to slow almost to a stop as she gazes at him. His clothes are dark and soft looking as they always are, his hair cared for and pushed behind his ears, boots on his feet. His lips are pink, eyes a shining bright blue. She moves one hand, starts to reach out to him.

But then the girl tugs on her hand and she’s spun away from him, losing sight of him in the crowd. She has no choice but to keep dancing, grinning wildly at the other girl. It is James’ job to find her after all.

They move through the crowd with other dancing couples and Y/N can feel James looking at her, following her, trying to get to her through the people. But the crowds don’t part, don’t make it any easier for him as his queen dances away from him.

She smiles, knowing James must be growing frustrated as she bounces in and out of his view. “A king,” the girl, Natasha she thinks is her name, whispers in her ear when she pulls Y/N tight against her, “must fight for his queen. A king must struggle for her. She is not a prize, she is not something to win, but he must work for her first. Any good king knows this. Any good king would follow through an endless crowd for his queen forever.”

Y/N giggles as the girl passes her off to someone else and they move in a different direction. The crowd and the dance partners she’s passed off to don’t make things easier for James and everyone in the room seems to be both watching and participating in the game they’re playing, everyone wondering when he might finally capture her.

It takes James thirty more minutes of struggling before he captures her. Somehow he must have circumnavigated the crowd because when she’s handed off to her next partner she finds it’s her last. She looks up into laughing blue eyes, one arm around her waist, his other hand holding one of hers. “Got you.” He whispers as the crowd suddenly lets out a wild cheer. For a moment they only smile widely at each other but when a silence suddenly falls over the crowd, almost eerily, she finds herself in some sort of ritual that Wanda had not warned her of.

Her eyes are wide when he starts to speak.

“I’ve struggled,” he says, looking into her eyes, sounding as though he’s reading from a script. But hard emotion also lies in his voice and it wavers a little as he speaks. “To capture your hand. I’ve struggled to be worthy of my queen. And though I will never be worthy of such a lovely woman, I will struggle every day. A land, a people, a king, they all mean nothing if they do not have a queen worth loving. And you are worth all the love of all of us and more. What shall I give you in exchange for this honor?”

Tears have welled in her eyes at the unexpected words. It’s clearly something the crowd had expected to hear, a declaration of his love. But Y/N doesn’t know what to say. Is there a set answer she’s meant to give, something Wanda had forgotten to mention? Her nerves start to eat at her the longer the silent stretches. She doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, mess up what’s clearly a very important ceremony of sorts.

James must see the panic in her eyes and so he pulls her close to murmur in her ear, lowly so only she can hear. “It’s okay. You can say anything you want. You can ask me walk over hot coals if you want.”

“Would you give it to me?” She asks, tears streaming down her face.

“Yes,” he says gently before pulling back again. “Anything, Y/N,” he says loudly so his voice carries.

She glances around and then back into his eyes, a calm settling over her. “In exchange of the honor of loving me I require two things.” Her voice is low but the room still echoes with the sound of her voice. “I require a kiss and-,” she pauses, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “I require the honor of loving _you_.”

Something in James’ eyes breaks as he whispers her name lowly. The crowd has already erupted in another loud cheer as James pulls her close and dips her low, a heated kiss pressed to her lips. The sound fades away, the only thing that matters are his lips against hers.

He sweeps her back up, holding her close, forehead braced against hers. Y/N keeps her eyes open looking at his, clenched closed. “James?” She whispers as someone announces them as a couple for the first time.

“Feels too good to be true.”

In response she kisses his chin and pulls away as someone excitedly shouts about crowning the king anew. James steps away from her, reluctantly letting go of her. He goes to one knee and allows a man to put a crown on his head. Y/N smiles when she realizes who it is, Sam smirks down at James, satisfied with himself. His crown matches hers exactly, the metal of the gold looking right on his head, the flowers even more so, and when he turns she sucks in a tiny breath at the way it makes his eyes stand out even more than they already do.

He extends his hand to her, curling his fingers around hers, as he reluctantly thanks Sam for the crown.

James pulls her close as the music starts back up. “You look…” His eyes trail down her form. “There aren’t words. You’re just so beautiful, Y/N.”

“I don’t deserve you James,” she whispers gently. "But I love you." And she feels it, she loves him. She can only hope her voice carries the truth and James can hear how much she does.

He squeezes her tighter, smiling into the side of her head. "I never thought you would, no matter how much I did. I love you, Y/N."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

For what seems like hours, Y/N and James only sway together. She doesn’t want to let go of him, afraid that whatever illusion of safety and peace they’ve created might shatter. Because that  _something_  that had been itching at Y/N’s mind in the closet earlier is still there. But she smiles at James, whose crown matches her own, because he looks so happy beyond his wildest dreams. He looks like every wish he’s ever had has finally come true.

Eventually though they pull apart, their fingers still locked together, to make their way around the ballroom. Everyone wants a word with them, to touch them, just to stand beside them for a moment. Even Sam pats James on the back after he gives Y/N a tight hug.

As the night wears on Y/N notices they’re offered, consistently, several strange gifts. Baskets full of pomegranates, small pouches of hazelnuts, and bunches of lotus blossoms are regularly presented to them.

Y/N isn’t sure what to make of it. They accept all of it, of course, handing it off to attendants who take it away to storage.

When she glances at James his cheeks are a little flushed as an old woman whispers something in his ear. She chalks the blush up to the champagne they’ve been sipping on all night, taking James for just a little bit tipsy.

The woman walks away, not before giving James a hard pat on the arm, muttering under her breath. “Who was that?” Y/N asks when he takes her hand again.

“A villager.”

“One who smacks the king on the arm and no one bats an eye?” She asks, raising one brow.

James rolls his eyes before glancing down at the lotus blossom in her hands. “She has the tendency to think she’s everyone’s mother, including mine.”

“What happened to your mother?” She asks suddenly, realizing she doesn’t know. “Your father?”

“Mother died when Steve and I were only a few years old. Father died a few days after my seventeenth birthday. He never forgave himself either, you know. Steve was a son to him and you were like a daughter. He died in battle and I was just old enough to take the crown.” He says softly, plucking the flower from Y/N’s hands. He tucks it behind her ear as he gazes into her eyes. “You really are so beautiful Y/N. What have they done to your hair to make it sparkle so?”

She squeezes his fingers as she smiles up at him. “They’ve woven crystals into it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked-,”

“No. It’s okay,” he smiles at her and leans forward to kiss her again when someone tugs on his sleeve, pulling him away before his lips can touch hers. He glances over to find a woman looking at them, a few of her friends gathered around her. “Hello,” he says, bowing to a chorus of giggles.

The woman that had tugged on his sleeve holds out a pomegranate, the others offering up small pouches of hazelnuts. Y/N frowns when a pink tint colors James’ cheeks as he takes the gifts, thanking the girls.

When they’re gone and the gifts taken away by an attendant, Y/N narrows her eyes at him. “Why are we offered these things, James? Strange gifts, I think, for a wedding.”

His only response for a moment, is to flush a deeper shade of red. “They are…” he trails off and glances around. “The gifts mean fertility. It’s typical to give to the couple to wish them well but also to wish them a _productive_ union.”

“Oh,” she says, trying not to feel embarrassed despite also feeling stupid about feeling embarrassed. They are getting married, aren’t they? Wouldn’t she have to have sex with him at some point? And she finds she  _wants_  to, a hot shame burning her chest for _that_ feeling.

James opens his mouth to say more when another person approaches him. “I’m sorry,” he says, turning to her, “They’ll keep interrupting us if I don’t-,”

“It’s okay,” she says, shaking her head. “Go.” She gives him a soft smile before he grins and pecks her lips, moving off through the crowd.

Y/N stands alone for a moment, trying not to panic. A man with a tray passes by, Y/N reaching out to grab another glass of champagne. She takes a sip, trying not to let her nerves get the best of her. She’s only alone for a minute when someone’s fingers curl around her bicep.

“You’re looking very beautiful tonight,” Calla says, stepping around to stand in front of Y/N. “Very queenly, I’d say.”

Y/N just stares at the other woman before trying to pull her arm away. “Leave me be Calla,” she mutters.

“I’m just giving our queen a compliment,” Calla says, her eyes raking over Y/N’s dress as her lip curls. “A very traditional dress.” She reaches out with her other hand and runs sharp nails down Y/N’s side. “Very traditional. The lace here? And the flowers? Oh, it doesn’t even look like a part of the dress, it just looks like you’re draped in flowers.”

“What do you want from me?” Y/N asks, taking a step away from Calla, pulling her arm out of her sharp tipped grip.

Calla shrugs and takes a step closer to Y/N. “I wonder what color James would have picked for me? Probably red. It’s the color of passion and love after all. It would have been made of roses.”

Swallowing hard Y/N grits her teeth and asks again, “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” she shrugs. “Nothing. I was just curious why you and James are still here. If it were me we would have been long gone.” When Y/N just stares at her, Calla feigns surprise, “Oh you don’t know?  _Traditionally_ , as it were, couples lie together the night before their ceremony.” Y/N’s eyes go wide and Calla laughs, stepping closer to her. She pulls Y/N in roughly and presses her lips to her ear, “He’s going to try to fuck you tonight. And you’re going to have to let him. Doesn’t he deserve it? Hasn’t he waited long enough?”

Frozen, Y/N’s gaze is drawn to James across the room over Calla’s shoulder. He frowns at her, worry creasing his brow. She glances away immediately, her breathing becoming panicked. Calla pulls back then and looks into Y/N’s eyes, “I wish you well. I wish you a  _productive_  union.” A lotus blossom is pressed into Y/N’s hand, crushed really, the petals smeared into her palm. “Don’t cry, they really hate that.”

With that Calla saunters away. Y/N bites her lip, trying to sort through her conflicted emotions, trying not to let Calla ruin her night. She’s afraid she might lose control again, that her gift might make another appearance and scare the people she’s come to love. Her sense of panic only intensifies, the fire in her veins searing a hot path against the inside of her skin.

 

~

 

James watches from across the room as Calla approaches Y/N. He loses all focus on the conversation he’s supposed to be having with one of the elders, wondering what Calla might be saying now to turn Y/N against him.

But she seems to hold her own against the woman. That is, until Calla pulls her close and whispers something in her ear. Y/N’s eyes immediately dart to his, an emotion he can’t quite identify swimming in her gaze. Her pretty lips part before her stare jumps away from his.

Calla pulls away and strolls in the opposite direction of him, leaving Y/N alone.

Y/N’s shoulders are slumped, her eyes on the floor. The man he’s supposed to be listening to just keeps droning on and so James has to watch as she leans down and pulls off her sandals, sets her drink on a nearby table, straightens her spine, and walks toward the exit of the room.

On top of her abandoned shoes sits a crushed blossom. Fear steals into his heart then, wild and unchecked.

He taps his foot against the floor, only able to listen for a few more seconds before he interrupts the man. “Excuse me. I do believe someone has upset my queen. I must go to her.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

James immediately takes off toward the exit, his heart beating hard in his chest. In the hall she’s nowhere to be seen. It’s dark and there are more than a few couples kissing there. “She went that way,” says a girl, who has leaned away from her girlfriend to speak to him.

“Thank you,” he says, darting down the hall Natasha had indicated with a wave of her hand. And sure enough, Y/N is at the very end, turning a corner. He picks up his pace, worried she might get away, worried of what she might be thinking, worried of what she might be thinking about _him_.

He gains on her once he turns the same corner, reaching out to take her hand when he finally catches up. “Y/N-,” James starts when she rips her hand away from his, turning to him with fear in her eyes. “Hey, it’s just me,” he soothes, voice soft.

Some of the fear in her eyes melts away and she sighs. “James….”

“Why did you leave?” His voice echoes down the empty hall. “What did Calla say?”

“Nothing.” Her answer is too quick, too easy. He levels her with a disbelieving stare. “Nothing, truly. She was just informing me about some of the… _practices_ surrounding the wedding that I wasn’t aware of.”

“Such as?” James asks, confused himself.

Y/N looks away from him, stepping back a few paces, eyes locked on the floor. “Oh. Just the…tradition of the couple, uh, lying together the night before their ceremony.”

 

~

 

It’s quiet for a time and James seems to be steeling himself when he finally speaks, “It is common for the couple to…uh, make love the night before their ceremony in the morning. That’s true.” Before she can say anything he says, “We don’t have to. We don’t have to do anything. I’ve noticed you’re nervous about sex and that’s fine. Usually the couple will have lain together before and with other partners before that but-,”

He cuts himself off for a moment but still doesn’t let Y/N speak as he blushes, “That’s what the old woman was reminding me of. That it’s different on Arvendon and that you’ll be…not  _afraid_  but nervous. I wasn’t even going to ask you tonight. I was going to wait. The Arvendonians wait until after the marriage, I know, which I find infinitely odd.”

Y/N glances at the floor, feeling, once again, enormously stupid.

“Y/N,” he says softly. “Look at me.” She lifts her eyes to his and lets him take her hand. “This is supposed to be our night. We can spend it anyway you like. It doesn’t matter to me. But please don’t hide from me. You always censor your thoughts and feelings. You don’t have to. I want you to talk to me, share with me.”

For a moment she doesn’t say anything, grinding her teeth together as she looks at him. “I’m so sorry I always mess everything up, James.” She runs her thumb over the back of his hand, taking a step toward him, craving his comfort, “I just needed a moment to breathe. Calla…made it sound as though I might not have a choice in the matter. And although I _want_ to and I did  _not_  think that you would force me, it still made me feel… _wrong_. My heart was pounding so hard and I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I thought I might lose control again, which I think is what she might have been hoping for, and so I left. I don’t want the people to fear me, to think ill of me.”

“You thought I might force-,” he starts looking more than a little confused and hurt.

“ _No_. No, I didn’t. James, I did not. I promise I didn’t.” She tugs him closer and lies her other hand against his cheek, pressing her thumb to the center of his bottom lip as she looks into his kind, clear eyes. She tries to memorize the exact shade of blue and the gentleness they exude, fear that he might disappear invading every fiber of her being. “She still made me feel inadequate. She told me what she might have been doing with you had she been in my place.” Her fingers shift nervously against his cheek, feeling like she should pull away and not able to bring herself to actually do it.

James shakes his head and presses a kiss to her thumb as his other arm winds around her back, pulling her flush against him. “She wouldn’t have gotten any of this. She would have gotten a rushed ceremony five minutes to midnight. You deserve to have everything exactly right, Y/N. However you want it to be.”

“James,” she says gently. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you. Your kindness. Your love. You give it to me so freely.” She moves her hand from his face to trace one finger down the slope of his nose, over his lips. “And I still find it so hard to be open.”

James releases her other hand and circles that arm around her waist too. “Y/N. I will not ask for anything you aren’t willing to give me. But if you wish to, I’m here. You can tell me whatever you like and it will be enough. Whatever you are willing to give…it’s _enough_.”

“Is it unfair of me to say I still miss Arvendon?” She whispers, searching his eyes desperately, tears welling in her eyes.

“No,” he says gently, tracing soothing circles into her hips. “It was your home for many years, even if it wasn’t a good one.”

“I miss Steve too,” she whispers, leaning her forehead against his, tear slipping down her cheek. “Everyday.”

He nods encouragingly, his voice low and careful. “I do too. I miss you sometimes still and you are right in front of me.”

She swallows hard at his admission, pulling back to look into his eyes, so he’ll know she means what she’s about to say. “I love the Headland. I love the freedom I have here. I’m sorry-,”

James shakes his head and pulls her into a sudden, bone crushing hug. “Stop. Stop apologizing for the way you felt when you got here. I knew it would take time. Knowing the truth doesn’t mean you didn’t feel those things. Y/N,” he whispers into her neck when she clutches at his shoulders, the pressure of his arms around her instilling a sense of safety in her. She closes her eyes, letting herself feel how much she truly loves him. “I love you. I love you so much. And I missed you for so long. I do not think I will ever stop missing you, no matter how long you stay by my side.”

She digs her fingernails into his shoulders as she lets out a small sob. “I missed you too, you know. At first. Before they made everything stop. Before they took everything away from us, before they took _you_ away from us. We worried about you. We missed you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asks, voice shaking with barely contained sorrow.

“I didn’t know how. I was so scared. I’ve been scared my whole life.” With that she pulls away and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. He kisses her back immediately, his lips so very soft against hers. James lets her guide the kiss, lets her pry his mouth open with an eager tongue. She shivers when he meets her tongue stroke for stroke, and whimpers when he bites her lip harshly.

James growls against her mouth softly, hands going to either side of her head, “I’m yours, Y/N. Don’t ever doubt that. I willingly put myself at your mercy, my queen.”

She pulls one of his hands away from her face and kisses his palm, keeping her gaze locked on his as she does. “I’m yours. And just so you know…I’m not afraid anymore. With you I am not afraid.”

“I know, doll.” He murmurs. But she hears something like relief in his voice. Love is there too, deep affection coats his voice as he whispers again, “I know, Y/N.”

With that she leans forward to kiss him again, this time with more fervor. She sucks lightly at his plump bottom lip, hands moving to cup his neck, her thumbs stroking along his jaw. She feels like she’s flying, she feels like freedom has finally been breathed into her soul. Their breaths mix hotly between them in pants and James groans deeply when she quickly sucks his tongue lightly between her lips. His moan goes straight to her stomach, loosing butterflies there, as he pulls away, eyes lust darkened. “James,” she whispers to the cool air of the corridor as he leans forward and begins kissing a careful path down her neck, breath catching when he nips at her pulse point, fingers stroking down her back to smooth over the curve of her ass. “I want to. Tonight.” His mouth trails a bit lower, over her collarbone to her shoulder where he places the most delicate kiss she’s ever received.

And it.

Makes her heart _melt_.

And in that moment she realizes she is _his_ , even if they never made love, she’s _his_. And she knows, deeply, in the very depths of her soul, that James is hers.  

He pulls back from her shoulder where he had let his teeth dig into her flesh just a little, lips swollen, hair mussed. “What? What do you want, darling?”

“You. I want-I want you to make love to me tonight.” She looks into his eyes when she says it, fighting every urge to look away, to duck her head. “I want you.”

James’ jaw clenches as he backs her into the stone wall of the corridor, his fingers threading though hers against the stone, holding them there lightly enough that she could pull away if she wanted to. “Are you sure?” His voice is soft.

Taking a shaky breath, she whispers, “Yes.” Y/N moves her hands from underneath his, fingers going to his hair, tugging it gently until he moans again, head tipping back, exposing his throat to her. “Make me yours, body and soul.”

“Say it again, Y/N,” he requests. “Tell me what you  _already are_.”

“Yours,” she murmurs, releasing his hair, fingers trailing to his neck. “Body and soul, I am _yours_.”

James grabs fistfuls of the tulle of Y/N’s dress, pulling her closer by the hips as he presses his forehead to hers, jaw clenching. “And I yours, my love.” It’s so quiet, so full of love and adoration, that she almost misses it.  

Y/N’s fingers shake as she reaches up to pop a few buttons of his shirt open, her fingers trailing along his soft skin, feeling the light chest hair, the warm muscle. “You are so beautiful James.” He shivers and she wants to feel his skin against her lips, so she ducks her head and drags her mouth along his velvety skin. She nips at his collarbone and feels a small rush of power when he groans. Y/N bites him lightly, enjoying the way he jumps and moans. “Darling-,”

She presses her mouth back to his as James curls his arm around her back, bringing her closer and tighter against his chest.

Her breath stalls and stutters as she tries to kiss him properly but she’s positively aching and distracted and she needs him and-

“Let’s go to my room,” he says against her mouth, lips still touching as he looks into her eyes.

“Yes,” she answers him, nipping at his bottom lip, cradling his head between her hands. She tilts his head slightly, James letting her do it, so she can kiss him the way she likes.

He takes both her hands in his and steps away when she pull back from breath. “You look good like this. So beautiful.”

“Like what?” She asks, cocking her head to the side, squeezing his hands as she bites her lip.

“Like my bride. Like my queen.”

“Queen,” she whispers, “I like that. Your queen.”

“Mine.” He agrees, seeming to have some sort of revere for the simple word. James takes her hand and starts to lead her to his rooms. They giggle, and try to stifle the noise they make, failing miserably most of the time. James will stop her at intervals to kiss her sweetly, ardently. It’s a miracle they don’t meet anyone along the way, considering all the people who had been in the corridors earlier.

When they make it to his room, James turns to her and asks, “Are you still sure?” She nods even as the nerves return in full force, trying to crowd out her previous confidence, her want. “Hey,” he says, pressing one hand to her jaw when her eyes start to skirt his, realizing how real what they’re about to do is. “You can tell me to stop at any time and we will. I will not make you do anything. You don’t have to do anything.”

She nods against his hand and then, not able to look into his eyes without losing her nerve, focuses on unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way, pushing it off his shoulders. It pools on the floor as her hands rove his chest, his abdomen. His skin is so soft and firm under her fingers that she never wants to stop touching him, tracing over strong muscle and taut skin.

Slowly, she examines him, letting her fingers flit where they please, enjoying the jumps in his breathing. It makes her feel good, better, knowing James is so affected by her. His hands go to her hips, holding her close. She trails her fingers lower, determinedly not looking at him, over the small thatch of hair that leads lower-

His muscles clench and her hands jump away as she looks up. “Y/N,” he says, gripping her hips tightly, voice wrecked. He looks like a man starved, he looks like how she feels. Staved for affection and love and warm touch. This feels different from the other times they’ve touched each other. It feels like they’re forging a bond, some unknown magic working between them. Y/N recognizes it for what it is: pure, unbounded love. She’d do anything for him, go anywhere, fight any battle, no matter the cost, and James would do the same for her.

“Go ahead. Touch where you like, sweet girl.” Y/N steps closer to him, their noses nearly touching, and puts her hand over his hardened cock, straining against his trousers. She applies a little pressure, watching him closely as she lightly drags her nails over him.

There’s a quick intake of breath and then he moans, low and strained, under his breath as he throws his head back. “I like when you make that noise,” she says, tracing her other hand up his bare, muscular back. “James….”

He hisses through his teeth when she does it again, pulling her in for a kiss to muffle his moan. “I want this dress off of you, Y/N,” he says between kisses he presses to his lips, peppering them gently over her face

“Okay,” she says as James pulls away from her and leads her across the room. Y/N digs her heels in a little as she whispers. “What-,” But James only shushes her and kisses her cheek as he comes to a stop in front of a full-length mirror, meeting her eyes in the mirror as he curls his arms around her waist.

He holds her gaze in the reflection. “Look how fucking beautiful you are my love,” he whispers in her ear. “I’ve never looked upon someone more lovely than you.”

He keeps his eyes locked on hers as he brushes his mouth along the column of her throat, pressing gentle kisses to her shoulders and then along her back. She feels the press of his tongue against the back of her neck and then at her pulse point, as he skims his nose along her neck. She shivers as he pulls back, reaching to removing her crown, he sets it carefully on a nearby chair, his own following. And then, slowly, methodically, he removes all the crystals and flowers from her hair. It’s precise and slow and sweet. And by the time her hair is loose, Y/N is a puddle of mush.

She doesn’t protest when his fingers tug the zipper down the back of her dress, his knuckles brushing the long length of her spine. “I love this dress,” he murmurs. “It makes you look like the flowers decided you were a good fit for them.” The dress drops to the floor. James presses his chest to her back, arms circling her again. “You are so fucking gorgeous, Y/N.”

Left only in thin, pink lace panties, his hands are free to roam her body as he sucks a dark spot against her neck, watching her reaction in the mirror when he cups her breasts. She arches into his hands, her moan wonton. “Bucky….” she murmurs as his hands flit over her skin, over her hips and stomach and down to her thighs. His fingers tease the edge of her panties as he keeps pressing gentle kisses to her neck and shoulder. She feels hot, with his gaze on her so loving and hungry, his touch so tender and worshipful.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into her ear again. “So beautiful, sweet girl.”

She shivers, not looking away from his eyes in the mirror. “I want you,” is all she can manage to murmur, turning in his arms. Y/N takes a nervous breath, her hands anxiously soothing down his biceps, feeling both exposed and safe in front of him. “I want you,” she says lowly, dipping her head forward to kiss his shoulder softly. “I want you,” she says against his skin, nipping at his neck and soothing over the sting. James chuckles a little when his fingers rove under her underwear, gripping her ass before he shimmies the thin material down her thighs, Y/N gasping against his neck.

He pulls away then and gently scoops her up, carrying her to the bed. He deposits her at the end of the bed and she rises to her elbows to watch him undress in the cool moonlight, the only light in the room. It’s makes his skin glow, and Y/N thinks he looks ethereal. James had left all his windows open, the balcony door too, and the sound of the sea almost lulls her to sleep as she watches him through hooded lids.

She can hear laughter down at the beach.

Slowly she lies back, eyes still on him, as his belt buckle clinks, trousers hitting the floor. Her breaths come in short, anxious pants as he slips off his boxers too. Her fingers flit up her body, toying with one nipple as she watches him and tries not to panic. She reminds herself that its James, that he would die before hurting her, and that she wants this, as she lets her eyes travel the length of his body.

“Come here, James,” she murmurs, reaching out to him. He doesn’t heed her request at first, only rakes his gaze over her naked body as he takes himself in his hand, giving himself a few slow pumps. “James,” she whimpers, eyes on his hardened length, wondering how on earth it would fit inside her.  

“Just a second, darling,” he says, eyes still drinking her in. James releases his cock and grabs one of her ankles, bringing it up to rest on his shoulder as he presses a delicate kiss to the inside of her ankle.

“James,” she whispers again, exposed and completely open to him. Embarrassment flooding her as he looks at her like she’s his whole world, like she’s the moon and the sun and the whole universe in one person.

He doesn’t answer, pressing kisses down her calf to her knee where he nips her skin. She jolts as he traces a reverent path down her thigh to her hip where he sucks a delicate spot onto her skin. His lips press once to her pubic mound, up her belly, over her breasts, as he leans over her, dropping her leg from his shoulder so he can kiss her deeply, tongues and teeth clashing.

Y/N takes James’ face between her hands and pulls away for a moment, only looking up into his eyes as he hovers over her, fingers smoothing circles against his cheeks, before bringing him down for a slower, more tender kiss. Balancing on one arm, James’ fingers go to her pussy and find her already dripping. She tenses for a moment, at the unfamiliar feeling of his fingers against her. “Wet,” he murmurs against her mouth. “So  _fucking_  wet.”

Y/N peppers kisses over his face and neck, eyes closed, as she feels the hot press of his cock against her core along with his fingers.

She mewls as he repeatedly passes over her clit, her wetness making it an easy slide. “Look at me, sweet girl.” When she only takes a shaky breath, James kisses her nose and murmurs, “Please, Y/N? I need to see those eyes.”

Y/N does, eyes slightly wild and panicked when she opens them. “Is this still okay?” The question makes her relax slightly, his concern comforting and gentle in its tenderness.

“Yes.” And then, “I want you to take me.” She reaches between them, keeping eye contact, and takes his cock in her hand, stroking him slowly. Y/N really doesn’t know if it’s the right move but his reaction tells her that it probably is.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands moving back to either side of her head. “Okay.” He sits back on his knees, pulling her hand away from him to spread her legs wide, her knees over his thighs.

Anxiety and nervousness threatens her again. What if she hates it? What if she’s no good at it? What if she couldn’t help him find release? What if she couldn’t release? Could she convincingly fake it?

With her legs open, he runs one finger up her wet slit, massaging her clit gently. She moans at the light pressure, needing more but not knowing _what_ she needs more of. “Relax, Y/N.”

She tries to, as he curls one finger inside her. Y/N gasps and arches into his touch, gripping his wrist as he explores her until he finds something that makes her feels like she’s on fire. “There you go, doll. Relax.” He presses a second finger inside her, slow and careful. It’s slightly uncomfortable until it isn’t anymore, pleasure coursing through her as she digs her nails into his wrist. Something builds in her belly, making her clutch at the sheets with her other hand, her chest heaving as she clenches her eyes closed. “That’s it, sweet thing, cum for me,” he whispers before leaning over to take one nipple into his mouth, tugging at the pert bud, rolling it between his lips.

The thing in her belly snaps and her hips roll to meet his hand, pleasure she’s never felt before coursing through her, making her dizzy. She hears someone saying James’ name, moaning, and only distantly realizes that it’s her. She feels so good and soft that she never wants the pleasure to end.

With her pussy still spasming with her orgasm, James leans over her and continues lathing his warm, heavenly tongue over her breasts, nipples. “Was that your first orgasm, Y/N?” He asks between harsh sucks on her sensitive nipples.

“Yes,” she sighs as she feels the press of something larger and heavier at her entrance.

“First of many, Y/N.” He pulls back to look into her eyes, his gaze momentarily fliting to her breasts, covered with his ministrations, his saliva. She pushes his hair back behind his ears, drawing his attention back to her eyes as she cradles his face. James searches her gaze and then leans down to kiss her as he takes himself in his hand and pushes slowly into her.

She lets out a harsh breath, screwing her eyes shut as he pushes in. Because it _burns_. It _hurts_. And for a moment she panics because he wants this and he’s inside her and she can’t figure out how she’s going to fake liking it and-

“Y/N,” he stops moving and the pain subsides. “Look at me.”

“I can’t,” she whispers, because he’ll see her tears and he’ll  _know_.

He kisses her, murmurs against her mouth, “Please. I know, doll. Now open your eyes.” She does, a tear dripping free and falling down her cheek. “Slow, okay? Tell me and I’ll stop. We have all the time in the world.” Y/N can’t imagine any other person being treated so sweetly during their first time and she nods. She also thinks he must be larger than most men because the process seems to take forever. But he kisses her sweetly through it all, treats her so carefully and tenderly that it breaks her heart.

When he’s fully seated she’s panting because it’s starting to feel _good,_ he feels good inside her, heavy and thick. “Move James,” she whispers, gazing into his eyes. “Please, move. I need it.” He does so slowly, trying to gauge her reaction, making sure he isn’t hurting her anymore. But he’d long ago kissed away her last pained tear. His thrusts are slow and deep. She feels blissfully stretched and full as he kisses her slowly.

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispers as she digs her heels into his back.

“Bucky,” she whispers his nickname, watches in awe as he shutters hard. “More. Please. Faster.”

When he doesn’t do as she says, Y/N knows he’s still worried over hurting her.

Frustration overcomes her and she pushes on his shoulder, rolling them. He looks up at her in shock as she throws back her head and groans as his cock sinks that much deeper inside her. His hands go to her hips, digging fingerprint shaped bruises into her skin as she rolls her hips against his. A low groans slips past his lips, “Move for me-,”

He doesn’t have to finish as Y/N rocks against him, head thrown back as she moans, fingers trailing red lines down his chest. James moves to squeeze her breasts, toying with her nipples, rolling and pinching them, as her moans become louder and wilder. She takes to rolling her hips against his as she reaches up to keep his hands against her chest.

James threads his fingers through her, holding her hands tenderly in his. “Goddammit Y/N look at me. Open those eyes.”

She does, looking down at him with hooded eyes as the tightness that has built up in her stomach breaks for the second time, her eyes roll back, hips slowing as she clenches hard around his pulsing length, testing his stamina, endurance. A breathy sigh leaves her lips, vision whiting out for a moment.

“ _Shit_.” He grabs her hips and rolls them again so he’s hovering above her, Y/N’s legs folding around his hips as he thrusts into her, kissing her hard before he pulls back. The smooth snap of his hips starts to become sloppy and disjointed. “Fuck. You’re so tight and warm, fuck, god, you feel like velvet-,”

Her voice is strangely calm when she asks, “Are you going to cum for me, James?” She reaches up and trails her fingers over his cheek, tracing her thumb over his bottom lip. “Cum for me James.”

“Ah-,” he bites off his moan, burying his face into her neck, biting her pulse point sharply. Y/N whimpers at the way his teeth sink into her soft flesh, at the power she feels for making him lose control. Her power hums under her skin, body burning hot against his. He groans with the light pain of it.  

She feels him pulse inside her, his slide in and out of her becoming easier. He grunts into her ear, unfiltered pleasure leaving his lips as he sloppily kisses her, twisting their fingers together, holding them against the mattress. Something about it, about _him_ , triggers another weaker orgasm. She shutters and clutches at his hands, whining weakly, as he hisses when her pussy squeezes him again.

“Goddamn, Y/N,” he mutters in her ear, waiting for her to calm, letting her buck up against him, using him to ride out her pleasure. “Fuck you’re so sweet, Y/N.”

Eventually silence falls, just the pants of their breath between them. James turns onto his back, slipping out of her to the tune of a small, disappointed whimper. She rests her head against his chest and curls into his side before she looks up into his eyes. “Bucky…” she whispers, reaching up to touch his face. He catches her fingers and kisses them as he looks at her with such a soft gaze that it breaks her heart, shatters her soul. For the first time in her life, she feels like she knows where she truly belongs. She belongs here, next to James, in his arms, her head against his chest.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “You don’t need to say it. I know.”

“But I will,” she murmurs, “I love you.”

The smile he gives her is genuine, full of bliss and affection, “And I you, my love, my queen.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: PLEASE READ THIS. Physical abuse. Insults/ mental abuse. Manipulation and mind control. Blood. 
> 
> A/N: This took forever and I’m sorry. Also I’m sorry for that you are about to read, please don’t hate me.

Hours later they still lie tangled together, the sound of the sea in their ears, the occasional shout or laugh floating up from the beach. Y/N strokes her fingers up and down the center of his chest, her ear pressed over his heart

She listens to the steady beats, finding peace in the rhythm. James’ arm is around her back, fingers at her hip as he draws slow circles there. “James,” she murmurs into his skin, just because she can, nuzzling her nose against the softness of his body, his velvety skin. He smells like her, like sweat, like the sea outside, like peaches and rose and mint, a signature scent of his ever since she had used it on him in the bath.

He murmurs her name back tenderly and nothing else, seemingly completely at ease, as filled with bliss as she is. Y/N knows he doesn’t want to break the peace just as much as she doesn’t want to. Their bubble is small and complete and they both know it’s infinitely easy to break.

Her body feels so pliant and free and good that she never wants to move, never wants to let go of the moment, but eventually she lifts her head and rests her chin on his chest, gazing at him until he meets her stare. “Yes, darling?” His mouth twitches into a gentle smile as he moves one hand to trace a finger down her cheek. “My beautiful queen.”  

“Could I ask you something, James?” He nods drowsily and so she continues, “What does the curse feel like? Or do you only notice it when you get angry or upset?”

James reaches out to her, pulling her closer, until her face is pressed against his neck, “I can always feel it. It’s like a heavy weight in my chest. It’s like having a lead box in your chest that you think you have the key to, in reality the key has a mind of its own.” He turns his head to look at her, his gaze gentle.

“Like when you cracked my wall,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“Yes,” he agrees, “Like then.” His mouth ghosts over her forehead, soft and incredibly tender. “I worry still, that you might turn away from me. When you left the ballroom after talking to Calla, I thought you might have changed your mind. It’s taken me so long to convince you of the truth. And-,”

She sighs and pulls away, sitting up in bed, “And my nature does not ease your mind at all.”

The sheet falls around her waist but she doesn’t move to cover herself. James’ eyes stay focused on hers until she lets her gaze drop, embarrassment flooding her for ruining their moment, their peace. _Why? Why must she always do this?_ “Doll,” he sits up too and takes her hand, the endearment falling easily from his lips. “I don’t understand what you mean. You look as though you’re thinking yourself into sorrow, Y/N. Your nature?” He shakes his head, “I love everything about you.”

“I mean,” she pauses and swallows harshly, “my suspicious nature. I am untrusting and closed off. I know that I am, even now. I was cruel to you in the beginning and for so long after I arrived. I can’t image how you might have loved me through all that. And yet you did, and _do_. I honestly cannot imagine how you love me still. I am not a lovable person.”

James takes her hand and presses his mouth to her palm, his eyes on her, sadness lying in the blue depths, “My love, I’m sorry you feel unlovable. But you are not. You are kind and gentle and you care deeply about those you consider yours. It’s understandable, your mistrust and fear. I would have been very confused had you arrived here and immediately fell into my arms. I expected to struggle for you,” James gives her a small, cheeky smile before it slides off his face.  

He closes his eyes and presses another kiss to her palm. “Besides, you have shown me such trust and love, Y/N, in ways you don’t realize. You trusted me enough to let me make love to you. You trusted me enough stop if you said to. You trusted me to see you, Y/N, every part of you.” James pulls her back down onto the bed, “I saw your soul tonight, Y/N, I saw the center of your heart. Did you see mine?”

“Yes,” she murmurs against his neck, where he’s pulled her tight against his chest. “I did,” she closes her eyes and kisses the soft skin of his collarbone. “I love you.”

A wild laugh leaves his lips then, his fingers suddenly digging harshly into her skin. She yelps, struggling against him, his grip bruising and cruel. “Oh, Y/N,” he whispers in her ear, fingers digging into her hips until she lets out a strangled scream and feels blood drip down her sides, “Then it’s too fucking bad that none of its true.”

Her heart freezes, eyes snapping open as she starts to open her mouth. The castle rumbles, shaking violently, furniture trembling as a scream slashes through the night. More screams follow from the beach. She glances up at James who bares his teeth at her before he kisses her with a violent fervor she doesn’t recognize. “You stupid whore,” he cackles and then shoves her out of bed.

With a grunt she hits the floor hard, gripping the sheet tight to herself. Y/N doesn’t feel confusion, she knows who must be close. The Arvendonians would already be inside the castle grounds. Terrified screams seem to echo all around her. Sitting up, she glances at the bed just as the door is flung open. A woman heads the group, her hand held outwards, green shimmering around her thin form. “Get up,” she barks, black hair lying straight down her back. Y/N stays firmly, defiantly, on the floor but soon realizes that the woman isn’t talking to her. James stands from the bed, his eyes blank, staring ahead at nothing.

The woman’s eyes flick over James, a smirk gracing her lips. White hot rage splits open Y/N’s veins, protectiveness she’s never felt for anyone making a growl stream past her lips. How dare she look at him? Without his permission? Without his consent? How fucking dare she invade his mind?

She doesn’t even glance over at Y/N. Instead, Hela just rolls her eyes.

“As much as I enjoy looking at you, King James, if you would put some clothes on.” Her gaze drifts down to Y/N as James stands and begins to dress, his movements stiff and sharp. “And you, my goodness how far you have fallen, Y/N. Lucky girl, fucking the king, but it still makes you a whore. These barbarians do it the night before you know,” she says to one of the men who stands behind her. Y/N recognizes them from Arvendon, knows they’re guard members, council members, and royalty. Hela is an advisor on the council, and a feared one at that. Terror twists her heart into a knot. She knows they’ll kill her the second they get a chance, the second she stops being useful. She’s betrayed the homeland, a traitor in every way. “Was he kind to you, Y/N? Did you let him fuck you in return for his kindness? Treated like a princess and not a prisoner? We always knew you were weak and useless but this is something else entirely. We thought surely that you’d be able to stave off the temptation of a barbarian king and his savage people.”

Her throat is tight, her greatest fears realized. How long had she denied James, denied herself, for the fear that she might be punished by her home? Some part of her still longs to be accept by them, the ingrained need to please them to avoid punishment surfacing. “Please,” she says, voice hoarse. “It was only tonight. I never-,”

“Shut up. Once is enough. You’ve never been good enough but I didn’t think you’d betray us so easily.”

One of the men steps forward then, “We brought something for you, Y/N. Maybe it’ll jog some memories. Maybe you’ve forgotten your home, forgotten who you’re supposed to be loyal to, who _gave_ you a home, raised you, fed you.” Before she can scramble away, he’s taken two long steps toward her and jerked her up from the floor. The sheet falls away and he shamelessly appraises her, eyes curling over her bare skin. She doesn’t cover herself, knows he’ll see it as a weakness.

“Brock,” she whispers, eyes wide, “You don’t have to do this. We grew up together. You know me.” But Rumlow has a reputation for being the most reckless, the cruelest royal in all of Arvendon.

He grips her hard, hissing in her face, “I _want_ to do this. You deserve this for the betrayal you’ve committed.”

She swallows as he jerks her away from the bed, toward the silent figures standing at the door. The woman has gone quiet, sweat starting to coat her brow as she focuses on James. He stands completely still, seemingly not even breathing. “Where’s Steve? What have you done?” If Hela’s here, her mind focused on James then maybe-

Because, clearly, it’s been Hela this whole time controlling Steve. Y/N should have known. She had known what power Hela possessed.

“He got what he deserved,”Rumlow says, pushing her forward. “Look what we brought you.” Someone else holds up her old wedding dress as laughter runs through the crowd, “Put it on, Y/N.”

For a moment she’s paralyzed with fear before she straightens her spine and tips her head up, defiance threading through her veins. “No,” she says, ripping her arm away from him, flame licking up her body. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Rumlow turns to stare at her, a slimy smile on his face, “You’ve gotten brave haven’t you, baby?” She lashes out but she was never trained for combat and he dodges the lightening lash of her flame easily before flicking his wrist up. “Look what I have.”

Her eyes go wide, wild fear gripping her lungs as she stumbles back a few paces. “No. Please, not again-,”

“Again?” His voice turns jovial. “ _Again_! He had this on you too? And you think we’re the enemy? You’re so naïve and stupid I can’t stand it sometimes. You’re just as much a prisoner here. To think, I wanted you to be my queen.” He leans forward and grabs her arm, not even flinching at the flame burning a path up her arm, “Did you forget what I can do, Y/N? Your fire can’t harm me.” He snaps the bracelet around her wrist. Its tighter than the other one and it burns her, a terrified scream leaving her lips as it sears her skin. “Put the dress on,” his mouth is beside her ear, lips barely grazing her skin. “You know the truth don’t you, Y/N? You’ve remembered, realized. You would have been mine. You _will_ be mine.”

“Steve-,”

His grip on her tightens until she whimpers and squirms, but she doesn’t look away from him when he pulls back to stare into her eyes, teeth bared. But she refuses to be cowed again. She’s known love and freedom and she won’t easily give it up. “Did you really think we would let you and him rule? You know that was all a lie. You are _mine_.”

A low growl echoes from across the room. The blankness of James’ expression has been replaced with undiluted rage. He’s still, but his fingers twitch against his thigh as he struggles. “Control him,” Rumlow snaps.

Hela glares back at him, grunting with effort, “He’s fighting me and he has the curse of rage on his side. You’re only infuriating him further. Stop playing with the girl.”

“Use it against him,” Rumlow snarls back at her. “Control him. Or you know what will happen to you.” He releases Y/N then, shoving her back until she falls to the floor, “Put on your dress.”

She lifts her chin, “No.” The cold tiles seem to burn her bare thighs but she stays still, not daring to move.

“You look like one of these people now, do you know that?” He jerks his chin at one of the other men, who carries in a large bag. It’s upturned onto Y/N’s lap, all the lingerie from her closet cascading out, lingerie she never used piling up around her. “Tell me again how you aren’t his little whore? Pathetic, Y/N, truly.”

She fingers a pair of lacy panties and opens her mouth to defend herself when she changes her mind. “I wasn’t. I’m not. I love him. And he loves me.”

“You’re delusional.” He rolls his eyes and grabs her arm again, hauling her upward even as she struggles against him, the pain from the bracelet has spread all the way up her arm. She whimpers and then hisses at him as she tries to get her arm out of his grip. He slaps her suddenly, “Shut up. Put the fucking dress on.”

Shock rocks through her. She’d forgotten how it felt to be slapped, silenced, tucked away, used. Slowly, she reaches out and takes the dress, slips it on, allows Rumlow to roughly pull up the zipper, so different to James’ gentle hands. “Look at you, all pretty in white,” he says, motioning at Hela. “Bring him here. Let him see what a real bride looks like.”

Rumlow presses his hand to the back of her neck, the sting in her face not subsiding. It would probably bruise but she’s had worse, she tells herself. “Tell him you love him, Y/N.”

“I love you, James,” she finds it ironic that the words come easily to her now. “I love you so much.”

His mouth quirks a little as Hela grunts in irritation. Hela reaches out and grips his hair, yanking his head back, “Stop it, king, if you wish to survive the night.”

Rumlow wraps an arm around her from behind, nudging her head to the side. “I am going to burn that other dress later and you’re going to watch. Blue? That’s no color for a wedding. But for now I’ll have to settle for this.” He reaches up and grips her hair, “We can’t return you home with whore’s hair can we?”

James actually manages shout, “ _No!_ ” Just before Rumlow’s knife shears through her hair, cutting the long strands almost up to her ears. Hela growls and digs her nails into James’ neck.

“ _Be fucking quiet_!” She hisses at him.

Tears well in her eyes as she reaches up and touches her hair. “They won’t want you here now. They’ll all know what a disgrace you are.”

“You’re a monster. You’re all monsters,” she whispers, panic truly starting to grip her. _Her hair_... “Calla was right.”

Slow, sinister smiles twist the mouths of the crowd surrounding them. “It is about to become so much worse,” he says, shoving her roughly, “Hands against the wall, bride.”

Tears just keep streaking down her cheeks. She couldn’t say when her hair had become important to her, as it is to all the others. But she feels more naked now, without it, than she had standing completely nude minutes earlier in front of a group of people.

Her hands press against the tiles of the wall, cool under her touch as she leans her forehead against the wall. She knows what’s coming as the back of her dress is split open. “Tell her you hate her, James.”

“I hate you, Y/N,” his voice is strained, a note of sadness and anger coming through the low growl. Pain licks up her spine and she screams, unable to contain the noise. She bites her lip as she waits for the next strike of the whip.

It’s a whore’s punishment on Arvendon. And her hair is gone, lying in a dirty pile on the floor, as James is made to watch her punishment. The same hair James had so carefully and lovingly brushed through earlier, meticulously taken care of by Wanda for months and months. James would be screaming inside, clawing at his skin, fighting Hela for everything he’s worth.

“Again, James. Tell her.”

“I hate you,” he says as another crack of the whip sounds. “I never loved you. I hate you.” She keeps her shout quiet this time, legs trembling, not wanting James have to hear as well as see her pain. _Crack_. “I despise you. You’re dirty. I used you.”

A sob wracks her chest, fingers scrabbling at the wall, legs threatening to buckle.

_Crack._

“You are worthless, useless.”

She takes six more lashes, six more insults before she passes out and sinks to the floor, blood cascading down her back, white stained red. Just before the darkness takes her she hears a roar of rage and heartbreak and pain.

People are still screaming on the beach. The castle shudders again.

Then.

Darkness.

And nothingness.

 

~

 

When she wakes its dark.

She can hear the sea and see moonlight through a crack in the ceiling of the wooden, slowly rocking carriage.

She’s sore but sits up anyways, her back screaming at her to just lie still. The skin around the bracelet feels as though someone is holding a hot coal to her skin. Rubbing lightly at her wrist she huffs out a long breath, not needing to ask to know where she’s heading. Her hair is gone and James is probably dead. Steve too, by what Rumlow had said. _He got what he deserved_.

She assumes she’s alone in the carriage, the moonlight providing very little visibility, as she curls her legs tight against her chest, adjusting the dress which split open back makes keeping the front up properly very difficult. Her back is stiff and she knows she’ll be scarred forever. But James…she can’t bring herself to care about anything else.

She can’t even cry.

And then, she hears someone shift across from her. “Are you alright? When they threw you in here I thought you were dead. There was so much blood. I tried to stop it but I was sure you would die.”

Confusions threads through her veins as she squints through the darkness and asks, “Calla?”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Feedback is always appreciated <3

“ _Calla_?” Y/N asks again, when the other woman doesn’t immediately answer. “Is that you?”

She sighs and shifts, the floorboards of the wagon creaking. “It’s me.”

Confusion laces through Y/N’s veins as she rubs her fists into her eyes. “What are you doing here? Why have they taken you too?”

“Because I didn’t do as they said. None of it matters now. They’ll kill us as soon as we get to Arvendon. They’ll slaughter us in the market like the chattel we are. Or, they’ll kill _me_ as soon as we get there.”

Y/N reaches forward through the dark when she hears Calla’s breath strain and shake, a tremble and a weakness Y/N hadn’t expected lying in her voice. “Are you alright? What’s happened?”

A bitter laugh slips past Calla’s lips but she lets Y/N take her hands all the same. “I suppose this is why he fell in love with you and not me, why he’s always loved you. You’re so kind and wonderful. I’ve seen you with the villagers, with the palace guards, that’s something I could never be.” Y/N doesn’t say anything, waits for Calla to continue. “Hela is my sister. When we were born it was very obvious very quickly that Hela wielded a wonderful gift and I that was cursed with nothing. So, I had to be made useful. I was trained as a spy. It would be useful someday, they were sure of it. And they were right.”

“Years before you were kidnapped by James I crossed the border and lived in a small village near the castle. I made friends with people and I moved closer to the castle over time. The day you arrived, I consoled James that you would come around eventually, that you would agree to be his queen. The propaganda was supposed to have been so strong that you never would have fallen for the king and he would have been forced to marry me.”

“So you would be on the throne. Arvendon would have a claim to this land.”

“Yes, so they could control the Headland and Arvendon,” Calla confirms as she squeezes her hands, “But I fell in love with James. I fell in love with the Headland. And I did want him, I _do_. But I couldn’t say any of that, not to anyone, here or there. So I just stopped sending information back to Arvendon. They realized what was happening I suppose, and they came tonight. And they knew…they knew it was your wedding night, one of the last nights to break the curse.”

Y/N swallows thickly, “And what does Rumlow want with me?”

“Your gift in the royal family, of course. So maybe they won’t kill _you_ immediately. Perhaps as soon as you produce a flame wielding child they will. You and Steve as members of the royal family was a ruse to conquer your gifts.” Calla goes quiet for a moment, slowly letting go of Y/N’s hands. “I do love him, you know. James. How could anyone not? But he’s never looked at another the way he looks at you.”

For a moment there’s only the creak of the wagon, before Y/N whispers, “He’s probably dead anyways.”

Calla makes a small sound of disagreement as Y/N’s hands travel to her own hair, tugging at the suddenly short strands as she tries not to cry. What she wants most in the world is to be back in James’ bed, curled against his side, warm and safe and satisfied, with the sound of his heartbeat in her ear, the laughter of their people, the rush of the ocean.

She wants her hair back too, her dress, and for her back to stop aching quite so badly. She wants to stop bleeding.

“They won’t have killed him,” Calla says. “He’s not yet become useless to them. They’ll likely use him against you. And Rumlow…he won’t be pleased that you’ve fallen for James. He’ll want to use that against you…and him.” There’s a small sniffle, “And me.”

Y/N releases a hard breath, letting her head fall back against the rough wood of the wagon. Her spine screams with pain but she can’t be bothered to care anymore. Maybe they haven’t killed him yet, but she knows the Arvendonians. “They’re torturing him,” she whispers, voice emotionless. “They’ll hurt him. They’ll torture him.”

“Haven’t they already?” Calla answers. “They’ve been torturing him his whole life with that curse.”

“Who cast it? And why? He was just a boy. He wasn’t a threat to anyone.”

Calla bites out a bitter laugh, “Boys grow into men, often in the worst way possible. He wasn’t a threat then but they knew he would grow into one. And even then his weakness was obvious, you and Steve. He would have thrown himself into a fire then and he would still do it now, if it meant you were safe. Did you let him fuck you?”

“Yes,” Y/N says, not caring anymore. “I did.”

“I would pray, to any god you believe in, that he’s left you with child.”

Y/N’s head snaps up, eyes searching the darkness in front of her, “Why?”

“Rumlow wants a child, a child which you mother. This world does not need a child of Rumlow’s with the power of flame. The whole world will burn. So pray you’re already pregnant. Pray that it is James’ child inside you.”

Her heart sinks, hands trailing down to her stomach. “And he will not be kind with you, as James was.”

“Are you trying to spite me, Calla?” Y/N says, voice breaking. “Why do you torment me? I know James was a good man. I know I didn’t deserve him. But no one deserve the fate that awaits me.”

She laughs again, bitter still, and hard. “No. I’m trying to prepare you for what’s to come. I am trying to prepare you for what is likely to happen to you.”

“Why are you telling me this? Don’t you hate me? Didn’t you call me monster? When you are the one born of those people?”

“I’m warning you because you should know. I said those things to you that day and today because I thought maybe…somehow there was still a chance, that he might grow to love me. And I do believe all of those from Arvendon are monsters, including me. I did not realize the extent of your power. You could burn the world of you so chose.”

Silence falls then, Y/N’s heart seeming to slow, beating sluggishly in her chest. Nothing seems to matter anymore. But should she give up so easily? No, she’s never been one to lie down and take what was given to her. “Calla,” Y/N says, a slow burning rage building in her chest.

“Yes?” She answers, sounding a bit surprised at her tone.

“We cannot let him win.”

For a moment Calla doesn’t answer, but then, voice a growl, she asks, “What are we going to do?”

 

~

 

Hours later the carriage bumps to a stop. They’re thrust out onto the windswept, icy coldness of the Arvendonian plains. Y/N had forgotten how true cold feels and she immediately misses the mountains and beaches of the Headland, the warm sun and gentle breezes.

She’s shoved to her knees in the mud. It’s cold and squishes uncomfortably beneath her. The wind cuts right through her dress, stinging the wide wounds on her back, when someone smacks her harshly on the back of the head. She bares her teeth at the man who only lands a stinging kick to her thigh. “What’s happened to our meek little princess, eh? Should you not be happy to be home?”

Y/N doesn’t say anything for a moment, glaring at the man with a dark gaze, “You should hope that this bracelet never comes off my arm.”

A wave of fear bursts through the man’s eyes and Y/N remembers exactly how fearful they had always been of her gift. Calla is shoved to her knees beside Y/N. She huffs out an indignant breath, tossing her hair back. “Stop antagonizing them.” She spits blood onto the ground.

Calla’s face is bruised sickening shades of blue and green, and the rage in Y/N’s gut only intensifies, burns hotter. She thinks that as soon as the bracelet is removed she’ll explode. More people have exited the other carriages, gathering in front of their prisoners. “Hello, spy,” one of  them says to Calla, leering at her. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Playing house with a king who isn’t yours?”

She doesn’t answer, only glares and grinds her teeth.

“Hold out your hands,” barks one of the men. Y/N and Calla both hold out their hands, heads bowed, as chains are wrapped around their wrists, binding their hands together. “Stand.” They do as someone else drapes burlap sacks over their heads.

Someone grabs Y/N, digging their hands into her already burning, aching back. She bites off a scream as she falls back to the ground, her hands digging into the mud. Calla is cursing, struggling, as Y/N’s ears ring, her vision blacking out completely.

And then, “ _Y/N!_ ”

Her head whips up, hands scrabbling at the ground as she tries to stand. _He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive_. She _needs_ to see him. She _has to_. But someone kicks her in the stomach, her arms giving out. “ _Y/N!_ ” He shouts out. “ _Don’t fucking touch her!_ ”

“James!” She screams back, struggling to her knees, mud streaking her person as she raises her bound hands, tries to push the bag away. “James! _James!_ ”

She manages to push the bag up a little, just above her mouth when a fist connects with her face. Calla is already on the ground, whimpering as James yells out to Y/N again. She manages to rise to her knees again, only to be kicked harshly, her world going black.

 

~

 

When she wakes, it’s to a dark, cold room. Dampness drips down the wall behind her, the air thick with musk and moisture. Her body is completely stiff, blood still hot on her back, head throbbing. She doesn’t remember Arvendon being so cold, so bitterly, bitingly cold. She remembers it’s cruelness though and wonders how she ever managed to forget it.

And then she feels a hand brushing against her forehead, over her hair, a gentle voice in her ear. “What’ve they done to you, Y/N?” The voice asks, sounding very familiar and infinitely sad.

“They took James from me,” she murmurs into the voice’s thigh, tears dripping down her cheek. “They took _my James_. Where’s Calla? What have they done with Calla?”

“Who’s Calla?”

Y/N’s eyes snap open, the voice’s owner suddenly recognizable to her. “Steve?” she whispers, not daring to believe it, not daring to move. “Is that you?” Her fingers dig into his calf. “You’re alive.”

“Yeah, I am. It’s me. I’m okay.”

She shoots up, ignoring the pain in her back that makes black spots dance in her vision. “Steve?” she whispers, looking into his eyes for the first time in months. “ _Steve_.” Y/N throws her arms around his neck, squeezing him close. “Oh, god. Stevie.”

“You’re bleeding, Y/N. You shouldn’t move too much.” But she doesn’t listen, doesn’t care, only pulls him closer and cries, hot teas tracing down her cold cheeks. “You’re wearing your wedding dress.”

“I had a new one,” she murmurs. “But Rumlow made me wear this one again. He’s going to burn it. He’s going to make me watch.”

Steve kisses the side of her head, “So it’s all true? Everything they’ve told me? You fell in love with James? Agreed to marry him?”

“Yes,” she whispers, pulling back to gaze into his eyes, into his bruised face. “Arvendon has made me look like this, Steve. Not the-,”

“I know. They’re treated me the same, Y/N,” he says, curling his hand around hers. “And I’ve remembered. They killed the witch.” He strokes her hair back with his other hand, anger flitting over his face at the way they’ve treated her. “I would rather you love James than love one of these monsters that trapped us here.” His smile is pained. “I would rather you love someone who loves you.”

Her brows furrow in confusion as she searches his face. “He does love me.”

He winces a little, looking away from her. “I know. He always has.”

She opens her mouth to ask something, not entirely sure what, when a voice calls out from the darkness of their dungeon cell, “If you two want to make it through the night, you should shoulder those feelings and come with me.”

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: PLEASE READ THIS. Physical abuse. Blood. Allusions to sexual assault, not directly stated. 
> 
> A/N: This took forever and I’m sorry, real life has been a shit show lately. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for sticking with me and this series.

Steve tries to get Y/N to stay at the back of their wet cell until he can assess what threat the person at the bars might pose. But Y/N won’t have that, instead stepping around him as best she can. He’s lost weight in the intervening months, the normally muscular, bulky man frailer than she’s ever seen him, and malnourished too.

It only makes the fire in her stomach burn hotter. They would all pay for hurting the people she loves. The voice at the gate is female though and Y/N expects to see Calla when she draws close the bars, not knowing how she might have escaped already and not caring, instead she’s met with Sam and a small redheaded woman.

Y/N recognizes the woman from the ball, she had whispered in her ear, telling her how a king should struggle for his queen. It seems cruel and ironic now, considering how she and James are struggling and suffering. She can’t imagine what pain he must be in, what they might be doing him, how they might be torturing him and using her against him. “Sam,” she nods at him, only a little shocked to find him standing before her as she looks to the woman next, gripping the bars in her hands. “I know you. You were at the ball.”

“Natasha, head of our forces,” she says, bowing her head a little. “After James, of course, and yes, we danced together.” She peers behind Y/N and smiles, “Prince Steven. It’s good to see you, again, after all these years.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, suspiciously analyzing both of them. Y /N can’t blame him, he most likely remembers Sam, recognizes him from around Arvendon. “It’s okay,” she turns to Steve, pressing her hands to either side of his face. “It’s okay. They’re trustworthy.”

He gazes at her, a strange look in his eyes, before he looks away from her eyes and over at Sam. “Can you get that bracelet off her arm? Can you get mine off?” Y/N glances at his wrist as he holds it up, the matching twin to her own bracelet circled on his wrist.

“Who put it there?” Natasha asks, sounding gravely concerned.

They answer at the same time, “Rumlow.”

Sam shakes his head slowly. “Only the person who put it there can take it off. We have to get the two of you back to the Headland,” he says, rummaging in one of his pockets for something, producing a key.

“How did you get in without notice?” Y/N asks, surprise crossing her face. “Didn’t you meet some resistance?”

“Sam has been finding secret routes in and out of the castle and the _country_ for years,” Steve answers her as Y/N lets her hands slide away from his face. He takes one of her hands, holding it tightly within his own, not letting go even when she tries to tug it away from him.

Sam chuckles a little, “That I have.” He opens the gate just enough for them to slip through, before easing it shut again.

“We have to find Calla,” Y/N says. “She helped me, in the wagon, in a way. She warned me.” Y/N swallows hard, “She warned me of what was about to happen to us and I-,”

“Calla is dead. Executed.”

Y/N’s heart drops, her breath caught in her lungs. “For what?” She whispers, voice pitched into a high lilt, sounding more than a little hysterical. “For loving another? For finding a home?”

“For betraying her country,” Natasha says evenly. “That’s how the Arvendonians see it. And if I were them it’s how I would see it.”

Bile rises in her throat but she manages to keep her keep her composure, finally wriggling her hand out of Steve’s. “Are you sure?” She asks as they move down a short, dank hall. The stone arches lowly overhead and they all have to bend a little not to bump their heads.

“Y/N,” Steve starts, “You shouldn’t move so quickly. Your back-,”

She only shushes him, glad to have found him alive but irritated with his protectiveness. It reminds her too much of James. And she can’t think of James, can’t let her thoughts linger on him lest she succumb to the anxiety and terror brewing hotter within her. Natasha and Sam seem to know better than to try to make her take things easy, slow. It’s no time for easiness or slowness in any case. “I saw it,” Natasha confirms. “I saw her head roll. Hela did it. Slaughtered her own twin.”

“We must find James,” Y/N says, hoping that her command won’t be met by tragedy. If James is dead, if they had executed him, she would fall to the floor and never rise again. She doesn’t possess her heart any longer, James does. His death meant hers. “Do you know where-,”

“There’s to be a sort of…show,” Sam says as they reach a heavy wooden door. “They want you to watch his execution. It’s said that it will be your punishment for treason.” The silence that rings afterwards, as the door is opened and they go through, is heavy.

She takes a breath, steeling herself, bracing herself to hear what she already knows. “What else Sam? What comes after?”

“I think you already know.”

Steve sucks in a hard breath and grabs Sam’s arm, bringing them to a sudden halt. “He wouldn’t dare,” he growls. “He has no right.”

“That doesn’t matter. Do you think that matters to him?”

Natasha presses a hand to Y/N’s shoulder. “Do not worry. We won’t let that happen to you. We will not let any of this happen.”

“Marriage,” Y/N seethes, anger hot in her veins as she pushes the word out from between clenched teeth, “If they kill James, kill me too. I cannot go through with that, I would rather die.”

“Y/N-,” Steve starts.

“Okay,” Natasha says, nodding. She seems to understand, as Y/N does, what would come immediately after the marriage. “We will not let it come to that. We’ll kill Rumlow first.”

 

~

 

James lashes out, knocking over a table as another hot stripe licks against his skin. It’s only the second hit and already he wants to pass out, to scream. This proves what he’s always known: Y/N is stronger than he would ever be. The whip immediately snakes through the air again, slices at his skin.

How she had stayed conscious for so long, withstood so many strikes across her sweet skin, stayed silent through it all, and endured his insults, he’ll never know.

The grip on his mind and body tightens again as another line of fire sears his back, tracing right up his spine. “Control him!” Someone shouts. “Don’t let him move.”

Hela, evidently, is not great at her job. “He’s fighting me!”

“Use his rage against him.”

“I cannot. He possesses it so fully.” She’s grinding her teeth when she jerks his head back by his hair. Her lip curls, “You people from the Headland are fucking ridiculous, pathetic and rebellious.” He’s already bruised black and blue, knees aching from where he kneels on the cold stone floor.

They’ve put something over his face, covering his mouth and nose, silencing him further despite the control Hela already has on him. He hates it. He can’t breathe properly. It digs harshly into the bridge of his nose, cuts at his cheeks. Sweat drips down his temple despite the freezing temperature. It’s hot and close with the thing on his face, moisture gathering under it, suffocating him.

Hela slaps him and yanks hard on his hair, sending him backward, his ruined back slamming into the rough stone. He doesn’t make a sound, even though his vision blacks out from the pain.

“I don’t think execution is enough,” Rumlow is saying, arms crossed over his chest as he strides closer to look down at James, lying prone on the floor. “I think a duel would suffice. A humiliating loss _and_ death. I think that would convince Y/N of your worthlessness. She’ll see you for what you are.”

He’s crazy, unhinged, James knows that. Y/N would never be convinced of that. But something in him sinks, his heart maybe, his soul, because Y/N had needed convincing of his worth in the first place.

“We’ll duel,” Rumlow seems to settle on it. “And I’ll have her. Imagine our children, wielding flame. Our house would rule the Headland and Arvendon for centuries, passed from generation to generation.”

Hela’s grip is slipping again, her eyes are clenched closed, her breaths heavy but he fights her anyways. “Fuck you,” he grinds out. “She’s going to burn you alive.”

Rumlow slams his foot into James’ ribs, before yanking him up from the floor. He’s already been beaten several times and the pain just seems to blend together. Hurt is hurt is hurt. Except for that whip. The cracks of it, he knows, will always haunt him.

If he _has_ a future.

The water had been bad too. The mask on his face might be bad but at least he can breathe. His lungs had burned as panic set in when they dumped the water over his face. Rumlow is about to smash his fist into his face again, blood dripping from his nose, when the door to the room is thrown open. A terrified looking guard stands on the threshold. “They’re gone. They’ve escaped.”

He’s thrown to the floor again.

Rumlow has a terrifying smile on his face. “Ready the grounds. We’re going to duel. Y/N will come. She’ll have to try to save _him,_ ” the declaration is punctuated with another kick. “She’s stubborn, she won’t just leave. She _loves_ him.”

He glares down at James, “You are going to fucking die tonight and Y/N is going to watch.”

The last thing he sees is a boot headed toward his face.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: PLEASE READ THIS. Physical abuse. Blood. 
> 
> A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for sticking with me and this series.

“ _I am not going back to the Headland_ ,” Y/N seethes, swaying a little in the cold wind. She’s dizzy, a little bit delirious.

She misses the Headland, which never gets cold. She misses the rush of the ocean in her ears, the gentle breezes, the clifftop palace and the open, rolling fields. She misses _James_ who had made the Headland home for her and so she only glares at Sam and Natasha and Steve and the horse they have ready.

“I am not going anywhere without James. Just as he would not go anywhere without me.” She crosses her arms even though it strains her back and makes tears rush to her eyes. Her whole body is sore and aching, fatigue starting to settle around her bones. Y/N has been awake for more than 24 hours and her mind is starting to become foggy, with exhaustion, with fear, with anger and hatred.

Steve steps forward, anger and protectiveness radiating from him, “You must go to the Headland, Y/N. You must. You cannot stay here. You’re only going to be hurt further.”

The horse they wish her to mount gives a nervous whinny. “Not without James. We go home together or with both die here.”

“Why? Why would you sacrifice yourself for him?”

The world goes silent as Y/N takes a shaky breath, wind rushing in her ears as she tries to push down the panic rising in her chest. It’s becoming harder and harder to do and she feels close to the brink of snapping, of losing her mind. She wants to scream as Sam interjects, “We have orders. Issued by James, in case something like this ever happened, to get you to safety first.”

“I won’t go,” she says through her teeth, backing away from them. “I don’t care what orders were given. I won’t leave. Not without James.”

Steve grabs her hand, forces her to look at him, “Y/N. You understand we can’t-,”

“I am tired of being controlled! And I will not go back to the Headland without him. He’s mine and I am his and I will not be parted from him.”

He steps directly in front of her, takes both of her hands, “James may already be lost. I can’t lose you too. We’ve lost so much.”

“There’s a chance he is not. As long as there is a chance I will not leave.” When he only stares at her, Y/N squeezes his fingers, “Please? I-I have to try.”

Steve opens his mouth, looking like he might say something important only to snap it closed again, jaw clenching. “Okay. Fine.”

Y/N straightens, muscles aching, drawing herself up to full height to emulate the queen she should have been. Now, if things went badly, if they slaughter the only man she’ll ever love, she’ll never become queen. “Back to the castle. Now.”

 

~

 

They cut his hair. It’s not as though there was much in the first place, but now it’s all gone.

The only thing he can think about as they do it is Y/N’s hair being cut, the quiet _shush_ is had made as it slid to the floor. Rumlow tilts his head to the side with one rough hand, Hela still panting in the corner, threatening to hit him every other minute.

James can’t decide if she’s bad at her job or he’s just adept at fighting her. He’s not even entirely sure how he’s doing it, somehow pressing back at the pressure trying to consume his mind.

Rumlow still has his hand against his face, examining the haircut that has just been given to him as though it really matters to him. He nods, pursing his lips, and the only thing James wants in that moment is to spit on him. It doesn’t matter anyways, the mask still covering his face.

But he can’t manage it as Hela clamps down tighter on his mind.

“It’s good I think,” he says to her. “It’s long enough that’ll fall in to his eyes a little right?” He finally lets go of James chin, turning to face the woman.

“Yes, I think so.”

Rumlow turns back to him, watching him carefully. “He’s shaking, Hela. Is he truly that hard to control?”

“Yes,” she hisses. “He’s strong.”

“Not that strong,” he counters, as though he has any idea how Hela might be struggling against him. “I wonder what Y/N sees when she looks at him.” He pulls a knife from a holster on his thigh, strutting closer, pressing the flat edge of the blade against his shoulder. “I guess it doesn’t matter how she saw him on the Headland. She’ll see him here for what he is.” His hand rears back, before diving back down to slash a long bloody cut into his shoulder. “Weak. And scarred. No woman wants a scarred man. Do you think she’ll feel betrayal? That you promised to protect her and yet you did not? You let this happen to her.”

He presses the blade to his throat, digging the knife into his skin until James feels the warm trickle of blood flow down his neck. “She must hate you now. Out in the cold and rain, waiting to see your execution. Think of the surprise on her face when she realizes you’ll have to duel me! Don’t worry, I’ll make Hela release you, so you can face me the way you were meant to.”

A slight scoff passes James’ lips.

He’s slapped so hard blood pools in his mouth. “Let’s find him a uniform.” The terrified servants who had been standing in frightened clusters all suddenly come to life again, bolting out of the room, desperate to get away from their ruler.

While they’re gone Rumlow stands by the fireplace and hums, looking every bit the insane king that he is. Hela shoots his back a disbelieving glare, even rolling her eyes slightly and he has to wonder what’s in it for her, what she might get from doing this. A place on the throne, maybe?

But she can’t really believe that. Not when Rumlow so clearly wants Y/N as queen, as the carrier of the next generation of Arvendonian royals.

When the servants return James is stripped out of his clothes, roughly scrubbed down, no attention paid to his wounds, before he’s redressed in battle gear. It heavy, rough leather. It feels like its weighing him down, crushing him, heavier than usual.

Rumlow stops one of them from removing the mask from his face. “We’ll leave that there. No need to hear him.” He pauses, examines James for a moment and then grins. “No magic. I assume you know how to use a sword?”

 

~

 

They’re halfway back to the castle, mingling with the crowds as best they can, when the people start to move more frantically, surging toward the massive stone structure. Natasha and Sam stop to ask what’s going on as Steve and Y/N try to keep their faces covered with the shawls over their heads. The rain that had started earlier continues to pelt down around them.

“They said there’s to be a duel,” Sam says. “Instead of a execution.” He turns to Y/N, “ He wants to humiliate both of you so thoroughly-,”

Y/N is already walking, following the crowd of wet, dirty people. Her shoes, flimsy sandals, stick in the wet mud. She doesn’t pause, not even to see if the other have followed her, knowing exactly where the crowd was headed.

On the far side of the castle is a training ground, all wet mud and filthy water, a terrible place to fight, a terrible place to die. She shoves through the crowd, pushing person after person away, who seem not to care that she’s shoving them, tripping past, all wild desperation.

When she finally gets to the front of the mass of people, she’s greeted by the worst thing she’s ever seen.

Rumlow is just finishing speaking to the gathering crowd, all of whom seem downtrodden and disillusioned.

James stands across from him, shaking, barely upright, in wet black leather. There’s a mask over the bottom part of his face and he seems to be bleeding from nearly everywhere. The sword in his hand looks too heavy for his trembling limbs.

He looks as though he might collapse at any moment.

“She’s here, James,” Rumlow says, pointing his sword at her as Steve appears behind her, gripping her hips as he tries to pull her away from the other man’s gaze. “Look now because soon you’ll be dead.”

James eyes connect with hers, the sorrow in his gaze quickly turning to rage when he sees the state she’s in, the bruises, the cuts, the trails of blood over the white of her wedding dress. He turns away, lifts the sword.

A wave of hot rage suddenly surges over them, the curse, the rage locked inside his chest flowing outwards. But the rage can’t heal his wounds. It makes the ground shake, it makes him stronger, but it also seems to weaken him faster, make his injuries worse. It’s killing him, the false strength making his life drain away faster.

The first clash of the swords is the worst noise she’s ever heard, the most jarring, heartbreaking, soul crushing sound she’s _ever heard_. Steve holds her back, keeps her from wiggling away, rushing toward James.

Hope grows in her for a moment when he seems to hold his own against Rumlow, but with his life draining so fast her optimism is quickly dashed.

Distantly she hears someone shouting as she struggles against Steve. _Let me go! Let me go! He’s going to die. He needs me! He can’t die. James. James. James. James. James!_

“James!”

He falls to his knees, bleeding heavily, blood dripping from his mouth.

Even with the curse, he’s no match for Rumlow, not with the injuries, weakening him. Rumlow must have known the curse would bleed his life away faster.

He’s so pale. He’s covered in bruises and cuts and he’s shaking.

She’s never seen someone shake like that.

James turns toward her voice, searching for her as he always does, always has.

A blade slices through the air.

Everything stops.

The world goes silent.

People turn away, like it’s just another day, just another battle, just another person, another death.

The blade slices through his arm, taking it completely off as James falls backward, Rumlow stepping forward to hover over him, deathblow poised over his heart. “I told you I would kill you,” she hears Rumlow say, though nothing else is audible to her, not even the roar of the crowd. “But you didn’t believe it until now, did you?”

And that.

Is when Y/N snaps.

The molten lava that lives in her veins, stews in her stomach, mostly dormant, suddenly surges up. It flares so hard Steve let’s go of her with a gasp when she burns him. Flames shatter the bracelet around her arm, flow over her body, every inch of her covered.

Rumlow stops, glancing over at her, a wicked grin on his face. “Look at her, James. She’s going to give me the world, make us the most powerful kingdom on the planet.”

The ground suddenly shakes as she steps forward, her shoes pulling off in the mud as she stalks closer to him. “Move away from him.”

“He’s dead already, Y/N.”

“ _Move._ ” The glass from the windows in the castle above them shatters, rains down around them. “ _Now!_ ”

Fear creeps into Rumlow’s eyes as he backs one step away. “Hela-,” he starts to call out when the flames wrapped around her body lashes out and strikes the woman. Y/N could feel the tendrils of Hela’s power tying to engulf her mind, but when her flame strikes her it stops. She falls the ground and doesn’t rise.

Shards of glass cut into Y/N’s feet as she raises her hand, “Get away from him.”

“He’s dead, Y/N. Let me take care of you. We can rule this world together-,”

“ _I don’t want the world! I want him!_ ” She screams, violent, raw power clawing at her skin. “And you hurt him.”

The world is starting to lighten as the rain finally stops, the sun beginning to rise even if the earth and wind are infinitely cold. She wonders what she looks like in that moment. Wearing a ruined wedding dress, bleeding, covered in every wound imaginable, flame consuming her body as the sun rises behind her.

James would say beautiful.

But he would also say _powerful_.

“You’ve hurt us for the last fucking time,” she hisses, voice grating in her throat. Lightning slices through the air, lighting the whole world up, and when the dust settles, when her flame fades, Rumlow and Hela’s bodies are gone and ash floats down from the sky.

She rushes forward, dress singed, skin raw and aching, feet slashed on glass, to fall beside James in the mud. “James,” she whispers, gently detaching the mask from his face. “Oh, god, James.” He’s bleeding heavily from what was once his arm. She sits back to rip her dress, shredding the cloth in her hands to press there, trying to stem the flow of blood.

“James,” she says again. “James, _please_.”

“You look like an angel,” he says suddenly, peeling open delirious eyes to look at her. “You’ve been my angel, my guiding light for so long, Y/N.”

“Don’t speak that way,” she whispers, voice cracking. “You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Everything is fine now. It’s over.”

He shakes his head sluggishly, “I don’t have much time left, darling. I’m sorry we didn’t have much time together.” She presses her bloody, dirt encrusted hands to his face, searching his eyes, watching the life there fade little by little. “I’ll always love you. You’ll always be my greatest love.”

Someone kneels on his other side, pressing the cloth to his mangled shoulder. “ _Stevie_ ,” he says, smile twitching at his lips.

“Can’t die on us just yet, James,” Steve says. “We have some catching up to do.”

But they both know.

This is the end.

Nat appears then, Sam too.

But James doesn’t look away from Y/N. “Sweetheart. I’m sorry I did not protect you. And I’m sorry I must ask you again, but will you marry me? I don’t want to die with a curse weighing down my soul. I want to be free.”

“Yes. _Yes_ , who can-who can marry us? C-can Sam-,” She looks over at him, only to have him shake his head and point to Natasha. Y/N nods and looks down at James again, swiping his tears away with shaking fingers.

“You looks so beautiful, Y/N,” he tells her. “You are. So beautiful and strong.” The sun is rising, sending pink and orange streaks of light over them, over his face. Natasha is muttering something under her breath in a language Y/N doesn’t understand, likely the ancient, rushed words of a wedding ceremony. “I’ve never seen anything or anyone more powerful, more radiant.”

Natasha pauses, “James.”

“I do,” his voice is weak, low, slow.

“Y/N.”

“I-I do.”

A searing, burning pain runs along the inside of her palm, making her hiss and pull back. A deep colored line runs the length of her right palm, tracing up to the tip of her ring finger. “There,” he murmurs, a sigh leaving his lips. “Now my soul will find yours easily in the afterlife. Our souls are bonded, I’ll find you the moment you arrive.” His eyelids flutter, delirium stealing him away from her.  

“The curse?” She asks, leaning close. “The curse, James? Is it gone? Is your soul free?”

He sighs again, blue eyes closing, “Yes.” He swallows thickly. “I feel light.”

A sob bursts free from her throat as she leans down to kiss him hard, lightheaded and filled with a fear that she’s never felt before.

She can’t live in a world without James. She won’t. She doesn’t know how to live in a world that does not contain James. How could she? But he’s dying. His last breaths press against her lips. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispers. “ _Please_ , James. _Please stay here with me_.”

“I love you, Y/N,” he murmurs, bloody lips brushing against hers.

She’s woozy, vision floating in and out. “ _Please_ , James, please, please-,”

She lies her head against his chest, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face. She’s so tired she can’t hold her headup any longer. With his weakening heartbeats, slower and slower and slower, in her ear, his fingers in her hair, she passes out. She can’t see him die, with the sun rising and the last weak beats of his heart in her ear.

And so she won’t.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Grief. Physical pain. 
> 
> A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for sticking with me and this series.

_Thunder_ rumbles in the sky, the sound of pouring rain echoing around her bedroom. Y/N’s whole body aches, every muscle, every bone, every tendon and tissue. She swallows hard and doesn’t open her eyes, her throat tight.

Because the part of her that hurts the most is her chest, her heart.

Her heart had returned to her when James passed but the space still aches as though its empty. Maybe she had lost her heart, maybe James had taken it to the afterlife with him.

Taking a long shaky breath she opens her eyes. It’s the first time she’s seen rain on the Headland. A cool breeze drifting in the open windows as the curtains flutter, her room dark and dreary, washed in gray and blue. She wishes they would have put her in James’ room. His sheets would still smell like him, like _them_ , before they had been ripped apart.

Someone, likely Wanda, has washed her, wrapped her wounds in bandages and gauze. Her hair is clean again, meticulously washed, though short and badly cut. With shaking fingers she reaches up to touch it.

James flashes through her mind, kneeling in the mud, his hair shorn roughly short, rainwater dripping down his cheeks, weak and almost powerless. He had looked for her. He wanted to see her as he died.

She wonders if there were tears there too, concealed by the rain.

She hopes that he hadn’t been crying.

Y/N slowly turns on her side in bed, listening to the torrential rain mixed in with the sound of the violently tossing waves of the ocean. The sea seems to be howling, grieving, right alongside her. Slowly, she lifts her hand, examining the bold line that runs from the tip of her ring finger to the heel of her palm. James would have the same mark on his own hand. Her throat tightens further as tears stream down her cheeks, thinking about having to see James’ body, cold and lifeless.

A sob tears out of her throat as she buries her face into the softness of the pillows. They’re too soft, as she’d grown used to lying her head against James’ chest. Her breaths hitch in her chest as she tries to stop crying, her hand shaking as she curls it into a fist.

A low whine leaves her, one she doesn’t recognize, as she sucks hard sniffles in through her nose. Her nails dig into her palms, pain shooting through her veins.

On the Headland, she knows, they cremate their dead, throw their ashes to the sea. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to handle that, but she also doesn’t know if she’d be able to handle his body entombed in the ground, under the earth forever.

A mausoleum, too, seems cold, a bad place to rest.

She knows she just doesn’t want him to be _dead_. She can’t think about what will happen to his body because _he can’t be dead_. 

Another vicious sob rakes at her throat, tears down into her lungs.

She’s never felt a greater pain than the one in her chest, in her heart. All the other pains, in her back, in her feet, in her face and hands and arms, are numbed, barely felt compared with the hurt in her heart.

Y/N can’t stop shaking, crying.

To never see James again, hear his laugh, see his gentle love-struck eyes, hold his hand, feel his bare skin against hers again, hurts her, haunts her, makes her want to scream. He’ll never say _I love you_ again, and she’ll never get to tell him just how much she loves him too.

There hadn’t been time.

She had wasted so much time, fought him senselessly, even after she had realized the truth. She had doubted him and they had had no time to explore their love and it’s her _fault_.

He’s dead.

And it’s her fault.  

Rumlow had wanted her. Maybe if she had just complied, James would still be alive. Maybe she would have had to suffer a life in Arvendon with a man she hates, maybe she would never have gotten to see James again, but at least he would be _alive, breathing, living, smiling_. He would have learned to love another, had a chance at a full life without her. She should have just complied with Rumlow, she should have sacrificed more.  

She cries until exhaustion finally pulls at her and she falls asleep again, the ache of guilt in her chest only growing.

 

~

 

The next time she wakes it’s just as dark, just as stormy, just as lonely and loud and hard. Someone is patting her hair, stroking it gently, thumb tracing over her cheekbone carefully, mindful of the bruises and cuts littering her fragile skin.

And.

For a moment, she thinks, hopes, almost _believes_ that its James’ tender hand against her hair. Because it’s something he would do. He would sit next to her and thread his fingers through her hair, tug gently. He always tried to make her feel safe, unpressured, at peace.

And he has become all of those things to her. Her safety, her peace, her home, her love, her heart.

The illusion is shattered when she opens her eyes and finds Wanda worriedly perched next to her on the bed. She immediately clenches her eyes closed again, nose scrunching as she tries to hold in her tears of disappointment. Y/N knew it wasn’t James and yet the hope had still bloomed in her chest, consumed her heart, even if only for a moment.

“How are you feeling?” Wanda asks softly, taking one of Y/N’s hands to peer at the bandages wrapped around her left hand. The door to her room opens and closes, Natasha gliding close to the bed. Y/N doesn’t answer her, her breathing starting to hitch around her sobs again.

Her hands are shaking, her whole body quaking, her grief all-consuming and soul crushing. Wanda shushes her gently,  “It’s alright Lady Y/N. Everything is okay now.”

“ _No_ ,” her mouth trembles around the word, her voice so low and hoarse and wrecked that she can barely hear herself speaking. “ _N-Nothing_ is okay.”

Y/N feels a sudden hot rage burn in her gut alongside her sorrow, that Wanda, someone who had been like a sibling to James, didn’t seem to be grieving at all. Natasha appears at the end of the bed, a worried crease between her brows. “How do you feel, Y/N? Are you in much pain?”

Flame flares briefly over her arms, her palms going hot, charring the bandage. “I am in _pain_ ,” she hisses.

“Let me see the dressings on your back.” Wanda says, helping Y/N roll over when the fire disappears again. Y/N wonders how she can think she means physical pain. “It doesn’t look so bad, the bandages at least. We can get you something for the pain if that’s-,”

“Why aren’t you upset?” Her voice cracks with panic, “Why aren’t you _upset_?”

“What?”

Y/N turns and bats Wanda’s hands away, sitting up gingerly, her back and arms and legs aching with every movement. It feels like deep scratches against the inside of her skin, like burning flame, like old scars ripped open. “Your king, your leader, your brother, is _dead_. And you ask me if I am in pain?” Her voice is almost gone, nonexistent, barely audible above the waves and the rain. “I will never not be in pain. For the rest of my days, I will not be free of pain and grief and guilt.”

Silence rings out, her heart feeling like it might be slowing, stopping in her chest. Every beat is a painful thump, a struggle. “James is dead and it’s my fault.”

Natasha moves from the end of the bed to Y/N’s side, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t you remember what happened?”

Y/N just stares at her, tears streaking her cheeks, shoulder bowed in prayer, in defeat.

“He’s alive, Y/N.”

Her heart shatters, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks as she covers her face with her hands. “D-don’t _lie_ to me. I don’t wish to be pacified. _Please_ , I-,”

Natasha takes her hands, pulling them away from her face. “You’ve been through a lot, Y/N, but I would not lie to you about this. James is alive. He _is_. He’s alive.” Y/N just stares at her, lungs aching, hope momentarily chasing away the fear in her veins. “You used your flame. You sealed the wound.” Y/N doesn’t remember it. She remembers passing out, and then nothing but blackness until she woke in her bed.

“A woman approached us, an Arvendonian villager, and offered to heal him enough to get him home. He was dying anyways, so we agreed. With you stopping the blood and the woman’s help, his life was saved. He’s alive.”

She can only stare at Natasha, who nods slowly at her. Y/N can barely breathe. “ _Alive_?” She whispers. “Are you…are you sure? You are not…lying to me?”

“I just came from his rooms. Our king is not lost.”

Y/N can’t breathe, can’t move. The whole world stops, sound and color and _everything_ fading away until there’s nothing left but James.

Body screaming with pain, Y/N throws the sheet back and slides out of bed, pushing past Natasha, darting out of her darkened bedroom. She hears Wanda shout after her and Natasha’s calm voice saying, “It’s okay Wanda. Let her go.”

Y/N runs, windows and rain, lightning and thunder, flashing by her, crashing in her ears. She runs all the way to James room. Her torn, cut, bandaged feet aching, her lungs burning, every pain amplified. When she comes to a halt in front of his door she can barely breathe, black spots dancing in her vision from the pain.

She reaches out to grab the door handle, briefly glancing down at her body, wincing at the state of it, glad that she’s at least dressed in white sleeping gown. She bows her head, hopes she isn’t hallucinating, and opens the door.

His room is as gray as hers, little light filtering in because of the storm, though all the windows are open, the roar of the sea and storm thick in the air. There is a definitely body shaped lump in the bed and so Y/N moves closer, ever so slowly.

She doesn’t dare believe it might be him, not blinking so as not to miss anything. She doesn’t dare let herself believe it, quiet, ruined feet padding along the cool tile floor. When she gets close enough to see his face, to see the rise and fall of his chest, she stops, eyes flicking over him, hardly daring to believe it.

James’ eyelids flutter, low groan leaving his lips, before she dives in bed next to him. Her tears feel violent, they feel like they’re peeling her apart and stitching her back together again. His arm wiggles underneath her body, pulling her as close as he can get her. “James,” she whispers, fingers going to his neck, searching for his heartbeat, just to be sure, just to be safe. “James. My James. You’re alive. You’re here. James.” She briefly kisses him, lips still moving to the tune of an ancient prayer against his as she presses her forehead to his, her hand hooking behind his neck so he can’t move away. “James,” she whispers, voice so shaky its barely her, barely recognizable.

“Y/N,” he murmurs when she pulls away a little to look at him. When she finally sees the bright blue of his eyes she almost falls back into hysterics, wiping away a stray tear from his cheek with her thumb. “My love. I thought you were lost to me. I thought I was lost to you but you saved me. I’m so sorry you had to. I’m so sorry I could not protect you-,”

She shushes him, trails her fingers over his chest. “I thought you were dead. I couldn’t remember and I thought you were dead. I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. Everything is my fault and-,”

The rain outside is slowing, still heavy but less ferocious. It sounds softer in her ears, gentler, more soothing. “It’s not.” His voice is as rough as hers, just as weak. “It doesn’t matter. But know that it is not. It is not your fault.” He quiets for a moment and then says, “You’re going to tear the stitches in your back, sweetheart. You should be more careful. You must have a full recovery, a smooth recovery. You have to be okay, Y/N-,”

“I do not care.” She buries her face into his neck, nose against his pulse point just in case, just because, and inhales, drinking in the scent of him. It’s just like James to be the one to almost die and be worried over _her_. “They tried to part us. But we struggled and we’re still here. I won’t be torn from you again.”

“Hold up your hand,” he requests abruptly, not able to pick her hand up himself, his right arm trapped under her body. Instead of doing as he asks, she slides her hand across his chest to his shoulder, down to where Rumlow’s sword had sliced through flesh and bone. “I’m okay. It does not hurt for the moment though I’m told that will come. I believe I promised you wholeness, however.”

“You are whole. You’re here. Your soul is here so you are whole,” she whispers, her voice nothing more than a tiny squeak before she lifts her hand so he can see it.

A low growl rumbles from his chest. “He’s left a mark on you.” Circled around her wrist is a deep ring where the bracelet had been liberated from her arm by her own flame.

“There’re many other marks besides that one,” she says, curling tighter against him, her eyes suddenly darting to the door, then to the wall where they had made her press her hands, where the whip had licked into her flesh.

It was from this room that they had been taken, where she had felt safest, given the most vulnerable part of herself to another, shown her whole heart, offered her soul, to James. She eyes the door, pressing her hand against his neck again, desperately needing to feel his heartbeat against her fingers, remembering how it had faded, little by little, as he lay dying in the mud and cold and rain in a country that wasn’t his.

“Turn your hand over,” he says softly, nudging her head with his nose gently, comfortingly.

She does, gasping a little, making her lungs twinge. The line on her palm and finger has turned a bright shimmering gold.

Quicker than she should, injured as she is, she rolls back and sits up, freeing his arm. She snatches up his hand, staring at his palm. His, too, glows golden and bright.

“I’ve never seen them do that before, my queen,” he murmurs. “I’ve never seen the lines glow before.”

She presses their palms together and leans down to kiss him, tenderly brushing her lips against his, tears on both their faces. “We’ve struggled more than all the others.” A tiny, tentative smile tugs at her lips. She settles back against him, rain still pattering down, the calm twist of the ocean rushing against their ears.

Y/N falls asleep with her hand against James’ neck, monitoring his heartbeat. Her feet are bleeding through their bandages from her run, she doesn’t tell James that she might have torn one of the stitches on her back already, or that her face and palms ache so deeply she’s not sure they’ll ever stop.

But she doesn’t move.

She won’t be leaving his side anytime soon.

They’ve struggled enough.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for sticking with me and this series.

“Stop squirming, Y/N,” James murmurs, kissing the side of her head. “It’s almost over.”

Y/N is lying on her side on a bed in the infirmary, having her injuries evaluated. James, tense shouldered and watchful, doesn’t move from her side.

She only squeezes her eyes shut, trying not to let the tears escape as she clutches James’ hand. A low whimper passes her lips as the last stitch is repaired in her back. “No more running.” Wanda commands. “Your back will be permanently damaged but we can at least spare you the pain of a difficult recovery.”

“Thank you, Wanda,” Y/N murmurs as James helps her back into a sitting position. A roll of gauze is brought out next to be twisted around her torso and back.

“James,” Wanda’s voice is stiff. “You should go to your rooms and rest. You are both in need of much rest.”

“Not while Y/N is not. I won’t.”

A sigh passes Y/N’s lips, anxiety twisting around her heart. “James-,”

“No.” His voice is hard, an edge that isn’t familiar to her lying in his voice. “I’ll wait until we can both rest.”

No one argues after that, people flitting around her them, giving James a wide berth. Anytime she hisses in pain as people care for her, he growls low in his throat. “Stop it,” she says, grabbing his hand. “You’re scaring them and they’re only helping me.” She stokes her thumb over the back of his hand. “You should sit down at least,” she murmurs. “You must also be okay, James. Please?”

He concedes to sitting down beside her, Y/N aware that he’s only doing so to appease her. But she keeps his hand in hers, trying not to examine the way his shoulders slump, pain filtering into his features.

For the past few days he’s been trying to hide the pain, his expression stoic and hard. She hasn’t yet said anything about it, about his clear discomfort, about how he sits up next to her in bed as though she had been the one to lose a limb, the one that had almost died. A woman kneels in front of Y/N now, wrapping bandages slowly around the soles of her feet. “You should not walk so much,” she says softly, cutting a wary glance at the king.

It’s advice she’s been given many times over the last few weeks. But it’s also advice she’s _ignored_.

James shoots her a concerned look when she trembles a little, bottom lip wobbling. “James,” she whispers, turning toward him, squeezing his hand. “Could I please have a moment alone with Wanda?”

“Alone?” He questions, looking hurt. All the same, he stands, kisses her hand and says, “Of course, my love.”

With that he turns on his heel and leaves the infirmary, door shutting softly after him. “When should we be allowed to see Steve?” She questions immediately.

Wanda gives a tight sigh, glancing around, “The prince is being well cared for-,”

“That is not what I asked.” She levels a stare at the other woman as clean gauze is wrapped around her hands. “I asked when I might be allowed to see him, when James too might see him. It’s been weeks.”

“And as I’ve explained, tradition dictates that when members of the royal family are hurt the country goes into a state of deference. No one should see you while-,”

Y/N pushes one of the women’s hands away from her and stands, feet aching. “And he is our family. He is a part of the royal family. We shall see him tonight. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

Tightlipped, she nods. “As you wish.”

“There’s one other thing,” she says, hands nervously fluttering where she stands, nausea clawing at her throat. Both she and James have been terribly anxious the last few weeks, jumping at the slightest noise, unable to sleep, tired. But she thinks there’s something else, something more, wrong with her. “I think I am…with child.”

Everyone working, moving, in the room stops and turns to stare at her. She presses her hands over her stomach. “I think I may be,” her voice trembles, terror raking down her spine.

Smiling now, Wanda asks her to lie down, “There is a simple way to check.”

Y/N wants to ask her to stop smiling as she sniffles and carefully lies down. Everyone is smiling, pressing their hands into her legs, arms, against her stomach. They’re chattering happily around her but all Y/N can feel is fear, horror, pain.

She and James have tried to be strong. They walk the castle hand in hand, heads held high. But their fingers tremble against each other’s. James wakes from nightmares several times a night, Y/N doesn’t sleep at all. They’re both anxious, nervous, exhausted. They’re both injured and traumatized. She bursts out in tears several times a day for seemingly no reason at all.

And people are smiling at her, pleased at the prospect of a royal birth, a child.

She’s asked to extend one of her arms now, the arm with the glowing mark to matches James’, before some sort of thick substance is traced up the inside of her forearm. “Close your eyes.” She does, and seems to lie there for hours as one of the women whispers ancient words above her before someone excitedly rubs her shoulder. “Congratulations, Lady Y/N!” Y/N opens her eyes to find the stuff on her arm glowing a bright purple.

Tears fill her eyes as she swallows thickly. “Get it off of me.”

“Traditionally-,”

“ _I said get it off!_ ” She suddenly screams, panic bubbling up in her chest, “ _Please_. Get it off. Get it off, get it off, _get it off_.”

She’s reminded of Calla’s warning. _You should pray that you are already with child_. And then she’s reminded of Rumlow and she suddenly can’t breathe. Her lungs won’t work properly, or maybe there isn’t enough air in the room. Either way she’s dying and-

She hears someone screaming and the babble of people. The scream wavers and cracks and-

The scream stops and then turns into a sob.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” says a calm voice, tender fingers sliding down her back carefully. “You’re home now. Everything is okay. He can’t hurt you now.” Steve’s voice turns away from her, “I’m taking her back to her room.”

There’s a brief argument before he lifts her, cradling her carefully against his chest. “Am I hurting your back, Y/N?” She shakes her head. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers against his shoulder. “I don’t know. I’m pregnant.”

He stiffens, voice a low snarl when he asks, “By who?”

“James.”

Steve relaxes, thumb sliding along her arm comfortingly, “Then it’s not so bad, Y/N. Are you sure it’s James?”

“No one else touched me,” she murmurs. “It’s James’.” His shoulders droop further, relief pouring off him in waves.

“I wasn’t sure what had happened to you before they brought you to my cell. There was so much blood and you were delirious with fever.” He pauses for a moment, the gentle swaying of his body as he walks lulling Y/N, “Where is James? Why is he not with you?”

Tears squeeze out of the corners of her eyes, “I wasn’t sure. I wished to ask without him there. I don’t know what he’ll think. I don’t know what I think. And I wished to ask after you. James has been so worried for you but he won’t ask for you, instead following this stupid tradition. I think he might fear seeing you again.”

“Why?” He asks, shock in his voice.

She opens her eyes to look up at him, lifting her arms to circle them around his neck. “He told me once that he blames himself for our capture, even though he was only a child himself. He thinks it’s his fault and he probably believes that you blame him. He might believe that you hate him.”

“James thinks that I hate him..?” he whispers, sounding more confused than before.

“I believe so, yes.”

He doesn’t say anything else, a crease between his brows as he continues along to her bedroom. She and James have begun staying in her rooms full time, James’ rooms holding too much trauma, too many painful memories.

He deposits her softly against the pillows when they arrive, moving to draw her blinds before he perches at the edge of her bed. Reaching out, she circles her fingers around his wrist, “It’s gone.”

The bracelet has left a scar seared into his skin but not one so violent as Y/N’s. “It came off when you killed him. I suppose the magic doesn’t extend if your captor is dead.”

“What did they do to you while I was gone?”

“Don’t do that to yourself, Y/N. There was nothing you could have done-,”

She purses her lips, trying to hold back tears again. “It’s my fault. I was so stupid. I tried to go back. I tried to get back to you. I almost drowned trying. And then I fell in love with James and things weren’t so bad and-,”

Y/N looks up at him from her hands in her lap. His eyes are sad, watchful. “I felt-I feel so guilty for falling in love. I’m sorry, Steve, for whatever happened to you because of me.”

“You almost drowned?” He asks, alarmed.

She bursts out laughing abruptly, the first time she’s done so in weeks, since her capture, surging forward to catch him in a hard hug. “Yes. But I’m okay.”

He wraps his arms around her, hugging her tight. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Y/N is surprised to hear him sniffle a little, “I missed you so much, Y/N.”

“Missed you too, Stevie. I-,”

It’s then her door is thrown open, making her jump and cower slightly against Steve. She wonders if there will ever be a time in her life now, where a door opening won’t frighten her. Steve pats her back carefully and pulls away to stand up.

James stands at the threshold, looking pale and terrified and like he might throw up. His eyes flick to her, quickly assessing her to make sure she’s okay before they dart back to Steve. “I apologize, I didn’t know you were speaking. I should have knocked, I was worried for Y/N.” He’s lying, Y/N knows. She knows he must have been eavesdropping.

And with that he starts to turn away when Steve’s voice cuts through the air. “Bucky.” James freezes, not moving, back turned. “Buck,” he repeats.

Slowly, James turns to look at them, shaking a little. Y/N frowns, as does Steve, knowing he’s been on his feet for far too long by the tremble in his legs. In a few long strides Steve is in front of James wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “I missed you too, Buck.”

For a moment James only stands still, surprise flitting across his face as he stares at Y/N over the other man’s shoulder. She nods at him, gesturing for him to hug his friend back, smiling a little.

James does wrapping his arm around Steve, pressing his nose to his shoulder as he closes his eyes tightly. “I haven’t seen you since we were kids. I-,” his voice is muffled and strained against Steve’s shoulder.

“I know. It’s been a long time. I almost had to watch you die, Buck.” Steve squeezes him tighter. “I thought that I wouldn’t have a chance to thank you.”

“Thank me?” He whispers, still shuddering a little, fisting his hand in the back of Steve’s shirt. “ _For what_?” James’ voice cracks.

Steve pats his back softly, mindful of his injuries. “Without you, Y/N and I would have never known the truth, we would have never gotten away. We would have never seen you again. Without you trying to bring us home all these years, we’d still be puppets.”

Silence echoes after that, the two men not letting go of each other for a long few minutes. “You remembered us when we forgot you. I don’t know how hard that must have been.” Steve pulls away and glances over James, “You need to lie down.”

For once James doesn’t fight it. He lets himself be led to Y/N’s bed and lies down without a complaint, looking over to his oldest friend. “Thank you, Steve,” he murmurs before promptly passing out.

Steve’s eyes drift from his face to Y/N’s. “Is he getting worse?”

She nods, tears filling her eyes, “Yes, because he won’t rest. He’s worried about the people and how they suffered when we were overrun. He won’t let himself recover. He’s punishing himself.”

“I can take care of it. I’ll run things. You don’t have to worry.”

“Are you sure?”

He smiles, “Natasha has been showing me around. She’s been a great help. And now you rule over Arvendon and the Headland.”

“What?”

He shrugs, “You killed Rumlow. Arvendon is yours.”

She presses a hand over her heart, her other hand going to James, finding his wrist, his pulse point. With his reassuring heartbeat against her fingertips she whispers, “Surely you mean James does?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You are Queen of the Headland because you married James. But you, and only you, are Queen of Arvendon. You slayed Rumlow, not James. Arvendonians won’t recognize him until you formally make your bond known.”

His eyes drift down to her hand, where the golden line glows, “And you have a powerful one. But I should go. You both need rest. And you should tell James, he deserves to know.”

 

~

 

Y/N wakes to the sound of waves in her ears, someone having opened the balcony doors. James is gone, his side of her bed cold and empty.

She slips out of bed and pads over to the stone floor to watch James, leaning against the balustrade of the balcony. For a moment she doesn’t move, only glances over his form, admires him and the fact that his soul still resides on the same plane as hers.

“James,” she murmurs, moving outside, closer to him. “You really should let yourself rest and heal.”

“So should you,” he says without turning. “Go back to bed, I’ll join you shortly.”

She only moves closer, wraps her arm around his waist and leans her head against his shoulder. “I worry.”

“My love,” he murmurs suddenly, turning away from the sea and the salty air. “My queen. I made a promise to you that I did not keep. How can you still look at me with such affection. I cannot even cup your face in my hands. I can’t-,”

He stops and shakes his head but still allows her to pull him closer, her hands against his jaw as she brushes her lips over his. “I didn’t protect you or my people. I can’t. I have never been able to.”

“You protected them for years James.”

His eyes flash open and he jerks away from her. “And yet you suffered torture and oppression for years. And so did Steve. It’s-I-I am not worth this. I cannot continue to let this happen. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to do the right thing. I don’t know how to fix things. I-,”

He stops and takes her hand, pressing it over his heart, “Do you regret falling in love with me? Do you love me still?”

“Of course I love you. Of course I don’t regret-,”

“I heard you. You feel guilty for falling in love with me. And you’re right. I made you stay here. I held you prisoner. I put a bracelet on your arm, same as Rumlow had. I could have done more to bring Steve home but I needed you to remember first and why? Why? So I could have you? I love you but maybe it’s better if you don’t love me. I won’t fault you if you don’t love me.”

Panic starts to well in her again, fear clouding her mind as she snatches her hand away from his and holds it up, her palm facing him. She doesn’t say anything, only holds her quivering palm in the air, gold tainting the darkness. “This is not false love. This cannot be faked.” Her knees tremble and then suddenly give out, her worn body not able to stay standing any longer as she collapses onto the stone, knees burning, bruising. “Please,” she murmurs. “James.” He’s beside her in an instant, cupping her cheek, searching her eyes.

“Y/N?” He asks, anxiety at the edge of his voice. “Darling?”

“James. Please don’t push me away. Please. Please don’t. Please don’t push me away. I need you. I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep going without you. Don’t, don’t throw everything away-,”

He shakes his head, “I’ll never go. I thought you might-,”

“I’m with child,” she says suddenly, not looking at him, turning away to look through the glass of the balustrade out to the sea. “I’m pregnant.”

He frowns and looks to her arm, “You can’t be sure-,”

“I am. I made them wipe it off.”

James sits down heavily on the ground and gestures for her to come closer, gathering her carefully in his lap. “You’re supposed to leave it there for the duration of the pregnancy,” he says, sounding dazed. “For luck.”

“I had an attack,” she whispers against him, embarrassed. “I-I-I’m so afraid all the time.”

“I know. I am too. I’m here. I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere I did not mean to make you think I was.”

She shakes her head, “I don’t want you to go anywhere. I don’t want to go anywhere. I was reminded of _him_. Of what he almost-,”

James’ arm tightens around her, a low, feral sound leaving his lips. “I’m sorry. I should have-,”

“James.” She stops and swallows, “What if I don’t wish to have it? The child?”

“Then you won’t,” he answers.

“You won’t hate me?”

He shakes his head and lets her press her palm to his neck, her mouth peppering kisses along his jaw. “I could never hate you. I am-I would like-,”

“What would you like?” She asks, drawing him closer, feeling safe for a moment, safe in his arms. “Tell me. It’s okay.”

James kisses her, his mouth tender and soft against hers, “It makes me happy.” He presses his hand to her still flat stomach, “To know we can create. That there is something that can come of both of us. I would like to have a child. But my love, it’s you that’s most important. I need you. I love you.”

“We should think about it.”

“We should,” he agrees. “I’m sorry I scared you. I did not mean to scare you so.” His lips press to the corner of hers, “Do you regret falling in love with me?”

She pulls back and stares into his blue eyes. They sparkle, even as exhausted as he is. “Never,” she says. “That is something I will never regret.” She takes his hand and presses their golden, glowing lines together. “We’ll get through this. And one day, we won’t be afraid anymore.”

 

 

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Smut right off the bat. Mentions of an abortion.
> 
> A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for sticking with me and this series.

**Two years later**

James groans tightly, teeth digging into his bottom lip when Y/N is fully seated, his cock nestled tightly inside her. “Darling,” he whispers, voice strained. “Move.”

She laughs, a free, untainted sound. “I will,” she murmurs back, swiveling her hips a little, suppressing her own groan at the heavy feel of him inside her. “I want to look at you first,” she says, gazing down at his sweat slicked skin.

The day is hot, summer in full swing, the breeze from their windows doing nothing to cool the room. She traces her fingers down his chest, watching the muscle ripple and shift beneath her touch. James growls and plants his feet against the mattress, thrusting up into her.

Y/N gasps and glares down at him, dizzy from the pleasure coursing through her veins. “I did not permit you to do that, my king.”

“Please, my love,” he begs, tracing his hand up the warm skin of her bare thigh to her waist. “Take pity on me, Y/N. I beg you.” James fists his hand in the material of her white dress, pooled around her hips, to shuck it out of the way. He groans lowly, gazing at the place they’re connected.

He looks up at her, his eyes dilated, the blue of his irises nearly gone. “You’re so beautiful, my queen,” he says as his hand slides up her clothed torso up to her neck and then over her shoulder where the straps of her gown have fallen down. She shivers in anticipation when he drags his hand lower again, down to her hip. “Tell me where I should touch you, darling.”

“Please,” she whispers. “James.  _Please_.” They’re both close, having teased each other mercilessly in the stiflingly hot room for the better part of an hour. The taste of him is still on her lips. She had tried to make him come with her mouth, only to have James pull her away at the last moment, saliva trailing from her lips.

“Give me what I want, sweet girl.”

She giggles a little before moving her hips, dragging slowly over him. “Sit up, James,” she requests, the fire in her belly growing hotter when his eyes roll back in pleasure, her fingernails scratching over his skin.

James presses his fingers to her clit as he sits up, Y/N wrapping her legs around his waist. She doesn’t stop moving, pressing her hips slowly, deliberately over his, James matching the roll of her hips with his own. She circles her arms around his shoulders, his hot breath huffing over her neck as she holds him close, not letting go.

He groans lowly and buries his face in her neck, biting sharply at the delicate skin. “Bucky,” she whispers when his teeth dig into her throat. “I’m going to come,” she says on a sharp breath, his hot mouth trailing along her collarbone. “I-I’m g-gonna-,”

“Oh, fuck, not yet, Y/N,” he grunts when she clenches hard around him. “Hold on to it, darling. Don’t come yet.”

“James,” she whines, “I,  _uh_ , I  _can’t_ , I-,” She feels hot, her skin burning. She’s afraid she might burn him, flame twisting under her skin.

“You can, you can hold on. You won’t burn me,” he murmurs, leaning back so he can tug down the top of her dress, exposing her breasts. She gasps when he takes one nipple into his warm mouth, tugging expertly on the pert bud with his teeth.

With a low whine she tries to move away, sensitive from their earlier exploits, from the rub of his stubble against supple skin. His moves his hand to her back, keeping her in place, fingers against her long healed scars. “Keep moving,” he commands when her hips start to stutter. “Come on, darling,” he whispers.

She moans, searching out his mouth with hers, “James,  _please_ , come with me. Make me come.” His kisses turn sloppy as they both suddenly tumble over the edge, long waves of pleasure cresting over her as James groans and pulls her down with him, lying back in bed. Blue flame had licked up her arms, quickly stifled, never touching James. “Don’t,” Y/N says against his sweaty skin, head pillowed on his chest as she sleepily traces over the scars on his shoulder. “Do not move, James. Maybe it will take this time.”

“Yes, Y/N,” he says, wrapping his arm around her back, kissing her sweaty forehead.

They had been too broken before, too defeated and terrorized, to raise a child. Her pregnancy would have been stressful and she was likely not to carry to term due to stress. And so they had made a hard decision, and a few days after coming home Y/N had gotten an abortion.

The care of the kingdom and the management of their new territory of Arvendon had been left in the hands of Natasha and Sam and Steve, while they finally rested, healed. With Rumlow’s death, Y/N and Steve were left as rulers of Arvendon, and the new territory had been incorporated into the Headland slowly.

Things had been hard at first, Y/N never stopped crying, she woke in the night afraid that James was dead, that he had really died. Most days, things are still hard. When James had stepped back into his role as leader, his spine straight, head held high, she had worried nearly every second of every day. She stuck close to Steve or James or both if she could manage it, terrified they might both disappear again, that this time there would be no saving them.

Y/N and James both needed reassurance at times that things are okay, that what had happened wasn’t their fault. Sometimes, James will panic, convince himself that he isn’t worthy of Y/N’s affections, and she’ll have to sit with him and trace the glowing golden line on his hand until he calmed.

James has only gotten more protective of her, even without the curse running though his veins. His protectiveness, and sometimes jealousy, as he hoarded Y/N like a dragon protecting gold, reared up at the strangest things. He never wants Y/N to go to the beach by herself, even if he doesn’t accompany her, someone else must. She thinks he must be as afraid of losing her as she is of losing him, remembering when she nearly drowned in the sea.

He also never wants her to go to bed without him. If Y/N is retiring early or late that’s when he does too. When she goes to bed, that’s when he does, no matter what he’s doing or how tired he is.  

It’s understandable.

And some nights they still don’t sleep at all.

“Do you think it will happen this time?” She asks him now, caressing his shoulder, fingers gently trailing over the scars, down to the stump of his arm, the skin there sensitive and tender. But she knows he doesn’t mind her touch there, isn’t shy or self-conscious about it, not with her at least.

He nods against her head as she moves her fingers to his ribs, pressing against the thick muscle there lightly, “I hope so.”

“How are you feeling today?” Is her next nervous question. His hand immediately slides down her back, soothing her, silently telling her not to worry, that he’s okay.

“Fine,” he murmurs. “It’s not so bad today.”

Somedays, most days, James has pain in a limb that no longer remains. It’s frustrating and makes tension lie along his spine and around his eyes. He smiles, most days, and ignores it, wincing and rubbing at his shoulder attempting in vein to stop the pain, only when he thinks Y/N isn’t looking. But she’s always watching, always sees the pain.

Y/N has told him, time and again, that he doesn’t have to hide anything from her. It’s strange, their roles reversed, where before Y/N had been so afraid to open up, to show her feelings, her pain. And now James worried that she might see him differently if he wore his pain openly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, love, I’m sure.” He presses a light kiss to the side of her head. “You don’t need to worry over me so much.”

She moves then, James slipping from her, to lie beside him. He reaches out and presses his thumb to her chin, tilting her head up to meet his eyes, “All is okay.”

“I know.” She closes her eyes and nudges her nose against his shoulder. “I know.” Sometimes, they need reminding. She needs to hear it, voiced and calm, that everything is okay, that  _they’re_  okay. And then her bottom lip wobbles, sudden emotions welling in her chest.

James wraps his arm around her immediately, cradling her against his chest, her tears dripping down onto his chest. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Do you think I’m being punished? For-for…that that is why we cannot conceive?”

He presses a light kiss to her lips, delicately kissing away her fears. “No, Y/N, of course not. We couldn’t then, we can now. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He presses his forehead to hers, eyes closed. “We are not being punished. Not after everything we’ve been through. We have suffered enough.”

She nods against him, still trembling a little, but she feels better.

Something feels different then, her mouth quirking up into a smile.

 

~

 

 “Bucky,” Steve says, “Stop pacing. Y/N is fine. She is in capable hands.”

He doesn’t stop pacing, only cuts a glare at Steve, who he’s grown so close to over the past two years, its though they had never been separated at all. “Every time we don’t conceive, she blames herself. She’s devastated. She thinks because-,”

He shakes his head and resumes pacing, Steve sighing as he leaves the room.

James isn’t allowed to accompany Y/N when she goes to the infirmary to see if she’s pregnant. There’s a long standing tradition on the Headland that doesn’t allow the father of the child to be present at the appointment. Instead he’s made to stay in their rooms and pace, anxiety flowing though his veins. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to do this many more time. Wait and wait and wait and wait, only for Y/N to walk into their rooms in a stark white dress and tears in her eyes.

White for nothing.

Purple for a boy.

Green for a girl.

The gentle spells they used could tell them all, even extremely early on.

He’s anxious.

If she walked in, a white dress billowing around her again, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to look into her eyes, see the heartbreak there and the guilt and know that it’s all his fault. If he had done as he promised in the first place, protected her, if he hadn’t been so weak, so easily controlled then maybe they wouldn’t be in this situation, then maybe Y/N wouldn’t be depressed and anxious and maybe he would still be whole.

But they also might not have Steve back.

And so he thinks it’s worth it, that they all got to be a family again, together again. Along with Sam and Natasha and Wanda too.

It’s then that the door opens slowly and James stops pacing. He stares at the floor, his breath catching in his throat. Footsteps come close, bare toes against the stone floor. He thinks about her feet then, about how they had been torn to shreds from Y/N walking over glass to reach him in that muddy field. He thinks about how she still cries sometimes because they ache so badly.

“James?” She asks, her voice soft and careful. “Won’t you look at me?”

He’s afraid to.

He’s afraid of what he might find.

White emptiness wrapped around her, disappointment pulling her brows together, mouth an uncomfortable tilt as she apologized for something that wasn’t her fault, that didn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things. Nothing matters, besides having Y/N close, besides having the people he loves safe. Everything else is a bonus.

But her voice is coaxing and loving and so slowly he lifts her head to find her smiling, a wide grin on her face, a delicate green dress swathing her body. Puffy sleeve cinch at her wrists, delicate flowers adorning the dress, all green and delicate. 

“You’re….” he whispers, awe in his voice. “Y/N, you are-,”

“A girl,” she says, grinning widely. “She’ll be a little girl when she arrives.”

He falls to his knees and squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to her stomach, apologizing lowly when Y/N frets over him, fingers threading through his hair. He lets her take his hand, trace the line written there with a warm touch before she presses his palm to her stomach. “James,” she says. “James, I never thanked you.”

He glances up, tears in his eyes, “Thanked me?”

“For holding on. For not giving up. For not giving up on me. How easy it would have been to call me a lost cause. How easy it would have been to let go. But you didn’t. You waited. You-,”

He stands and kisses her, a wild strong wind suddenly bursting in the room, ruffling their short hair that they’d both decided to keep cut short. James pulls her in close, her warm lips twitching up against his. “I would have waited forever for you, my love.”

“I love you, James.”

She says it with such ease, it nearly breaks his heart. She doesn’t look away or hide herself, there’s no anxiousness in her tone when she says it. It’s just the truth, something accepted and pure and whole. She loves him.

And he loves her. 

“I love you too.”

He doesn’t let go of her.


End file.
